


sight of strangers

by neroh



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - The Girl on the Train, If you like Spock then you shouldn't read this, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Murder Mystery, Past Spirk, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neroh/pseuds/neroh
Summary: Everyone has their secrets, it’s just a matter of finding them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Biggest thank you to: Bre (aka the best beta ever), Matt, Leah, Mo, and Tresa. I really wish I could put into words about how much your friendship and support mean to me. 
> 
> There are quotes borrowed by the Star Trek films as well as the novel, _The Girl on the Train_ by Paula Hawkins, which I highly recommend (don't bother with the film). The mix is located [here](http://8tracks.com/boldly/sight-of-strangers) and Gina Torres is my headcanon for Number One (aka Majel Pike).

“Where were you last Wednesday evening, Mr. Kirk?”

The question is posed by the detective sitting across from him. Jim’s eyes roam over his heart-shaped face and the stubble covering his cheeks, darker by his chin where he missed a spot. For one, he’s healthy and it shows in everything this man does. From the way his alert hazel eyes follow Jim’s movements to the golden shade of his skin, the detective—Leonard McCoy, if Jim’s vague memory serves correctly, which, in itself is a crapshoot—is pulled together in a way that he, himself, hasn’t been in a long time.

“Mr. Kirk?” the other man inquires, arching a brow. He moves and the muscles under his black fleece and t-shirt with him. “Where were you—”

Jim glares at him. “I _heard_ you,” he barks. His back presses against the sticky chair inside of Leonard’s office, bringing an unsettling feeling of claustrophobia. “I went out. For a drink.”

“Okay,” Leonard says as he begins to take notes. “Where did you go for a drink?”

“Swig,” Jim replies with a dark grin. “It’s a new place on Geary, near downtown.”

The detective nods. “I’ve heard of it.” He doesn’t look up from his notepad, nor does he comment on Jim’s evident problem.

“Isn’t this where you tell me I should stop drinking and get my life together?” he asks, prodding for a reaction. There’s something about Leonard that makes Jim want to push him away and keep him close; something strange and yet, so familiar.

Leonard shakes his head, lifting his eyes from the notepad. A sigh escapes his mouth as he sets his pen and paper down upon his desk, where he clasps his hands in front of him. “I’m not a doctor, Mr. Kirk,” he says, directly. “I’m a detective. How ever you want to conduct your life is your choice and none of my concern outside of this case. If you want to end up as skin and bone, so long as you’re not breaking any laws, it ain’t my place.”

“You’re a cop,” Jim comments, motioning to the nameplate sitting next to a mug filled with pens. “Aren’t you supposed to be a good influence, Bones?”

The other man blinks. “Bones?”

“It’s better than Leonard,” Jim says as he taps the faux bronze ornament on the detective’s desk. “Sounds like an old man’s name.”

Shaking his head, Leonard ignores his last comment. “Not my department, kid.”

For some reason, Leonard’s reply causes Jim to chuckle. The way his muscles move, from his stomach to his throat, is like relearning how to ride a bicycle. Wobbly at first until he gets the hang of it. “You’re funny,” he finally says while he dabs the corner of his eyes with his sleeve.

“Yeah, a regular laugh riot,” the detective tells him. He’s back to business now, pen in hand. “You were at Swig.”

Clearing his throat, he nods. “Then I took a cab to Fiddler’s Green.”

“Which you were thrown out of,” Leonard adds.

“People get thrown out of bars,” Jim says, offhandedly, as he reaches for the mug filled with pens. Painted onto the ceramic is the University of Mississippi school crest in blue and gold. Thinking to himself, it makes sense, as he detected a Southern drawl when Leonard first spoke. Lush and slow, syrupy sweet as it washed over him in the hallway just outside of his office.

The detective shrugs. “And after?”

He wonders how different his life would be if he met Leonard before Spock. Would he still be reeling from the breakup of his marriage, clinging to the despair and anger that the man he loves chose someone else? Would he crave the burn of alcohol on his tongue? Would his life be in shambles if Leonard had gotten there before his ex-husband?

Would this man, this detective, hold his heart close and protect him?

“Mr. Kirk,” Leonard says more forcefully, startling Jim.

He sets the mug down on the desk. “Sorry,” he whispers. “What was the question?”

“Where did you go after Fiddler’s Green?” the other man repeats.

Jim lifts his head. “I went to see my husband,” he replies without thinking. It’s an automatic thing - to say he was with Spock.

“Your _ex-husband_ ,” Leonard tells him as gently as possible. “Dr. S’chn T’gai is your ex-husband.”

There is a brief moment he wants to correct the detective until he remembers. “Oh,” Jim says softly; defeated even. “Right.”

An uncomfortable silence blankets the space between them. It seems to affect Leonard more than it does him; at least that’s what Jim tells himself.

The truth is Jim can’t remember the period of time before arriving at Fiddler’s Green. He recalls sitting at Swig before leaving and then there’s nothing until he’s seated at the counter of the second bar, drinking like his life depended on it.

He takes MUNI from his apartment and rides around the city all day. It used to be a ruse to keep Hikaru in the dark about his steady descent into the bottle. He knows it’s failing.

Jim sees the concern on his roommate’s face when he stumbles in reeking of alcohol or the deep sigh as Hikaru helps him to bed. He used to think that by using money from his trust fund and the divorce settlement—Spock’s generous pay off so he would sign the papers—that his roommate would turn a blind eye to his behavior.

It doesn’t work; it never does.

During his trip, he passes by Spock and Nyota’s house, a picturesque Victorian that used to belong to him. In the few seconds Jim sees the structure, it’s like a dagger to the heart. He remembers walking down the front steps while holding Spock’s hand as they head towards the MUNI stop. He remembers being the fool, of wanting to show Spock how much he loved him enough though it wasn’t going to be enough. Sometimes Jim would lean over once they reached the bottom and peck his husband’s cheek as if to say _you are my entire universe_.

Now it’s Nyota Uhura who goes down those steps with Spock in all her perfection. She’s the ideal partner - beautiful, stable, adoring. It’s her who lives within the walls of his former home. Her who used to be his best friend. Her who makes love to Spock in their bed. Her who has taken Jim’s life away from him, snatching it like a thief.

 _Her_ —the one that ruined _everything_. Jim hates _her_.

How Nyota could even bear living in the house Jim spent hours creating is beyond him. She must feel very secure with her position as Spock’s wife for it not to bother her, walking where her husband’s former spouse walked before. Jim thinks of Ted Hughes moving Assia Wevill into the home he shared with Sylvia Plath, of her wearing her clothes, brushing her hair with the same brush.

There are times he wants to call Nyota and remind her that Assia ended up with her head in the oven, just like Sylvia did.

It’s just another twist of the proverbial dagger lodged in his heart and no matter what he says or does, it will never make the ache go away.

Then comes the house of the Coopers; he’s not sure if it’s their name, but it’s the one Jim gives them. They’re what he lost, they’re everything he wanted back; perfect, happy, and in love. Jessica, he calls the wife because it’s pretty just like her, is a lithe blonde who reminds Jim of a ballerina. Every movement that comes from her body is filled with grace and beauty. Her husband, Adam, is tall and athletic, one of those All-American types. Classically handsome to Jessica’s Grace Kelly looks. He is doting when it comes to Jessica, always armed with affection and a smile. Adam’s probably never said a negative word to Jessica in the entire time he’s known her. He holds her hand at parties and worships her. They respect each other; they’re a team.

Jim both envies and adores them.

From there, the warm day becomes a cold San Francisco night. The constant movement of the city blurs as he drinks. Lights and sounds turn into a single entity. People’s faces spin together until he can no longer discern one feature from another.

Jim feels like a child, spinning round and round until he can’t stay on his own feet. His world sways on its axis and he stumbles, falling like Alice going down the rabbit hole.

There’s nothing to soften his fall or a table with signs that say _eat me_ or _drink me_.

Just the darkness that swallows him and holds Jim to her bosom until morning.

A knock jolts him into the present, followed by a door opening. “Len,” a woman greets. There’s a hint of an accent—Middle Eastern, perhaps—when she speaks. “There’s a Christopher Pike asking for you. Says he’s Mr. Kirk’s lawyer.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jim sinks into the chair with a groan. “Who called _him_?”

“Your roommate,” Chris answers, causing Jim to snap his head around. His uncle—and attorney, apparently—looks pissed, for lack of a better word. He is in one of his three-piece suits with his eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses while he carries a briefcase. “Detective McCoy, I’m Chris Pike. Could we have a word outside?”

Chris doesn’t even shake Leonard’s hand and cuts right to the chase. The detective rises from his desk and gestures towards the hallway; they leave Jim alone in the office with the door open a crack.

“I know you’re the lead on the Carol Marcus-Mitchell disappearance,” Chris tells Leonard. “But I have to ask, what does this have to do with Jim?”

Leonard distributes his weight from one leg to the other. “We have two eyewitnesses that put him in Mrs. Marcus-Mitchell’s neighborhood the night she vanished.”

“And who are these eyewitnesses?” Chris demands. “Is it two certain doctors? One of them being my client’s ex-husband?”

There is an uncomfortable pause. “I am not at liberty to say,” Leonard finally answers. “However, do _you_ know where Mr. Kirk was last Wednesday night around eleven?”

“I do; he was sleeping off his latest bender on my couch. You can call the owner of Fiddler’s Green and he’ll confirm it. Or better yet—ask my wife,” his uncle replies. “Jim was so wasted he should have probably been comatose, much less trek all the way over to the Panhandle. So you can tell Spock and Nyota to take their eyewitness account and shove it up their asses if you get my drift.”

Jim snorts softly; Chris almost hates them as much as he does. Every accusation, every so-called act of harassment—he never can recall it, though _they_ —Spock, mostly—insist the late night calls and other events plaguing Spock and Nyota’s picture perfect life is all Jim’s doing. Hikaru, Chris, and the few friends he has left think it’s all very convenient lies.

He, on the other hand, isn’t so sure. There are times he wakes from a black-out with unexplainable injuries, mostly minor things like cuts and bruises, and he wonders. Could Jim _truly_ be capable of such misdeeds?

“Perhaps instead of having your client sleep it off on your couch, maybe you should consider sending him to rehab,” Leonard boldly says.

“Oh believe me,” Chris hisses, “I’ve tried. I’ve threatened, I’ve pleaded, cried—the whole nine yards. Jim is just as stubborn as his father. He won’t see he has a problem until it slaps him right in the face.”

Leonard grunts. “And where are his parents? Doesn’t this destructive behavior worry them?”

“I’m sure it would if they were alive,” his uncle tells the detective.

“I didn’t realize it,” Leonard apologizes. “What about siblings?”

Chris sighs—that heavy, terrible sigh Jim’s heard for the last two years of his life. “His parents and older brother were killed in a car accident.”

“Oh,” the detective intones.

Jim knows Chris doesn’t have to say any more; no one wants to know the grisly details of the head-on collision that killed his family instantly. While he was at Berkeley, Sam was about to attend business school at NYU after spending several years in the workforce. Their parents traveled from Riverside to help him move.

While their blood coated the highway in Boston, Jim was sleeping in his dorm room. His first class wasn’t until the next day, so Jim took the opportunity to sleep in until Chris barged into his room.

The first thing he could remember was his uncle’s hands on his shoulders as he shook him awake and that haunted expression, so pale and withered. In those first moments, Jim knew something was terribly wrong and when Chris told him, he began screaming and screaming until his voice gave out and he collapsed onto the floor.

In the blink of an eye, his life was forever altered and in another, he met Spock. Spock who treated him with care and compassion. Spock who made promises and said vows he didn’t plan on keeping.

No wonder he’s a fan of the bottle, Jim muses to himself.

“I know he has his issues, but Jim has nothing to do with Mrs. Marcus-Mitchell’s case,” Chris insists. The door creaks open as his uncle walks back in. “If you’d like to question my client further, you can call my secretary to schedule an appointment. Come on, Jim.”

He stands on command, not wanting to needle Chris’ patience. As he follows him out, Jim pauses by Leonard and shrugs. “I didn’t call him,” he says apologetically.

And he leaves.

 

* * *

 

In the car, Chris doesn’t berate him.

Instead, he sighs _again_ and says, “What am I going to do with you, kiddo?”

“I’m sorry,” Jim mumbles from the passenger seat. He’s pressed up against the door, trying to make himself as small as possible. The window’s glass surface is cool under his skin even as tears burn the underside of his eyelids.

Fingers ruffle his hair, the gesture reminiscent of when he was younger. When he was a little boy and was happy. “I know,” Chris assures.

 _I became sad, and sadness gets boring after a while,_ he muses. _For the sad person and for everyone around them._ So he took the next logical step in a downward spiral: Jim became destructive. He dragged proverbial knives over his skin in the form of alcohol just to feel something other than shame—the shame of losing his husband to his best friend and the wreckage that followed.

There are times Jim thinks about having one last bender, the big one that will end his life, but in the end, an unconscious nagging deters him. One of these days, everyone’s patience will run out. They’ll get sick of Jim’s constant knack for finding trouble, even when he’s trying to stay clear of it.

Everyone he has left in his corner will leave him once they’ve had enough and sadly, he won’t be able to blame them. There are days that Jim is sick of his own miserable existence; sick of the alcohol, sick of hangovers and bruises, sick of the disappointment in everyone’s eyes when they look at him.

And now this—being dragged down to the police station for questioning all because of some hearsay from two people who hate him.

Jim thinks of Jessica…no Carol. _Her name is Carol;_ he reminds himself as Chris navigates them through traffic. She’s gone now and her story is now plastered all over every newspaper and television station in town. Carol and her husband deserve more than being a sensational case; they should continue having the life Jim will never be able to obtain.

He’s just an interloper into their world, but there is a connection between this woman and himself that Jim cannot shake. Like a tingling sensation on his skin as if he’s been touched by a ghost.

The least he can do is try to help; he wants to help. But in order to do this, he has to be sober.

“Chris,” he whispers, wincing at the uncertainty in his voice.

“Yes, Jim?” his uncle answers in his fatherly voice. For a man who never had children of his own, he certainly has that down pat.

Opening his eyes, he stares at the marine layer blanketing the city. “You remember that therapist you mentioned?”

“Elizabeth Dehner,” Chris says carefully. “What about her?”

Jim swallows. “Could you make an appointment for me?” he questions, disbelieving the words are even coming out of his mouth. The very thought of sobriety…it wasn’t something he wanted.

Or used to want.

“Of course,” the other man tells him. A hand touches his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m proud of you, kid.”

He closes his eyes without saying another word.

 

* * *

 

Leonard McCoy isn’t sure what to make of Jim Kirk.

He sits inside of his apartment, staring at the Marcus-Mitchell case files, and remembers the tragically beautiful man who entered his office. What he had expected was far different than he received. Jim wasn’t what both Spock S’chn T’gai and Nyota Uhura described; frightening and unpredictable, they said. The former insisted that his ex-husband had a temper and was capable of violence.

Leonard liked to think himself as a pretty good people reader and thought their concerns were real enough. From the second Jaylah announced Jim’s arrival and ushered him into his office, the detective began to wonder.

Instead of a potential suspect, he saw a scared kid who looked like he needed a medical intervention more than being dragged in for questioning. At the six feet Leonard estimated him to be, Jim appeared underweight and pale with vivid blue eyes. He had never seen anything like it before; so blue they nearly rivaled everything in existence. Staring into them was entrancing, even if what reflected back was very little.

Sure, this kid had been dealt a shitty deck in the game of life, but was he a suspect?

No, there was absolutely no way. Leonard would bet his badge on it.

As he flips to his notes on Jim, the other man’s driver’s license photo smiles back at him. He’s several years younger and healthier, judging by the fullness of his cheeks. What he had seen today was a husk of a man. His cell phone rings; it’s Jaylah. Leonard doesn’t need to look at the screen thanks to the obnoxious ringtone she installed. “Yeah,” he says in greeting.

“I have the strangest feeling,” his partner sing-songs over the sound of a television program, “that you are bringing your work home with you.”

Leonard snorts. “Then you’re psychic, Jay,” he replies as he unclips Jim’s photo from the file, bringing it closer for inspection.

“What’s bothering you, Len?” she asks, knowing him all too well. Jaylah must mute or turn off the television since whatever crappy show she’s watching is now gone. “Is it Jim Kirk?”

“Am I that transparent?”

Jaylah giggles. “Only to me, boss,” his partner assures. “What about him?”

“From what his ex-husband said about him, I expected someone different,” Leonard says. “Someone more…” He finds himself at a loss for words. After a few moments, he gives up. “Just not him.”

A sigh comes from the phone’s speaker. “He doesn’t seem like the type of person to stalk and harass someone. Maybe pine after them when they happen to be in the neighborhood,” Jaylah agrees. “I did some digging while you were questioning him. Neither Drs. S’chn T’gai or Uhura have reported these alleged incidents.”

“Huh?” Leonard pulls himself off the couch and begins to pace. “Why make the allegations to the police if they never reported it?”

“Maybe the husband thought he put Mr. Kirk through enough with the divorce and convinced the wife not to call it in until something else happened?” Jaylah theorizes.

Shaking his head, the detective goes to the living room window and stares out at the San Francisco Bay. “Uhura doesn’t seem like the type. If she feels threatened, she would take matters into her own hands.”

“Also, it might end up with us digging in places they don’t want us to.”

“I think it’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?”

Jaylah sighs. “There is a single domestic disturbance report, dated three years ago,” his partner says. “Police were called to Mr. Kirk and Dr. S’chn T’gai’s residence. The former was taken to the hospital and the latter was questioned; a month later the doctor filed for divorce.”

“Come again?” Leonard asks, baffled.

“No charges were filed, but it seems that Mr. Kirk isn’t the only one with a temper,” Jaylah tells him. “I’ve already emailed the report to you. You know, for some bedtime reading.”

Later, when he’s in bed with his laptop, Leonard isn’t all that surprised by what he peruses through. The police report, dated June 2013, details an incident in which two officers—Riley and Hendorff—were called to the residence of Mr. Kirk and Dr. S’chn T’gai after neighbors reported yelling and screaming. Upon entering the premises, they found the house in disarray, as if someone had gone through it with a bat to smash everything, Riley wrote. In the rear dining room that overlooked a typical San Franciscan backyard, they found the doctor hovering over his husband’s unconscious body.

Hendorff handcuffed Dr. S’chn T’gai and put him in the patrol car, despite his protests that he hadn’t done anything. Riley called in an ambulance and administered first responder aid to Mr. Kirk, who suffered a concussion and three cracked ribs. The doctor insisted that his husband came home drunk before he began to destroy the house.

They were having marital problems—Jim had discovered Spock in flagrante with his now-wife—but trying to work things out. The doctor freely and almost sheepishly admitted to his indiscretions, saying it exacerbated his husband’s drinking problems, which had gotten out of control due to recent events.

Riley included documentation from the hospital. According to the doctor handling Mr. Kirk’s case, his injuries were not consistent with Dr. S’chn T’gai’s account; his blood alcohol level had been far too high for him to inflict the property damage found inside of his home, along with unlikelihood of that Jim managed to hurt himself in the process. Friends, along with Christopher Pike and his wife, felt that Jim threatened to divorce him that night only to have Spock fly into a rage because his husband’s name was on the deed to the house. He would lose millions if Jim left him.

In the end, Riley and Hendorff tried to charge the doctor with domestic battery, only to have it dropped.

Leonard ends up opening a photograph taken of Jim the night of the incident, only to find his stomach clench uncomfortably. On the computer screen is the young man similar to Mr. Kirk’s driver’s license, except for a pair of watery blue eyes and the obvious bruising on the right side of his face. It spreads from his hairline to the top of his cheekbone, already purple and swollen. His lip, having been split open, is held together by unseen stitches and two butterfly bandages.

Everything he’s seeing doesn’t add up, Leonard can feel it in his marrow. He hits reply on his work email and types a quick message to Jaylah. _I think we need to have another chat with the doctor_ , he writes.

 

* * *

 

Doctor Spock S’chn T’gai is a tall, striking man with olive skin and pitch black hair.

Leonard wouldn’t describe him as conventionally good-looking, though he could see the appeal this man exudes while observing Spock as he crosses the lobby. The airs of perfection and confidence are two very attractive traits for most people and the doctor has them in spades.

Similar to the first time he made the doctor’s acquaintance, he is impeccably dressed in a tailored suit with his hair slicked back. Covering his dark eyes is a pair of glasses, which he removes as Spock comes into Leonard and Jaylah’s sphere.

“Detectives,” he greets, keeping his hands in his pockets. “You wished to have a word?”

He nods, gesturing to the couch across from him and his partner. “Just some follow up questions,” Leonard assures.

“Very well,” Spock says dourly. He takes a seat, unbuttoning his suit jacket and letting it flap over his trim waist. With an impatient wave of his hand, Spock signals for them to begin.

Pulling out his notepad, Leonard uncaps his pen. “I remember from our previous conversation that you mentioned your ex-husband had a temper and made it a habit to harass you at your residence.”

“And my wife,” the doctor adds, raising a brow. “I recall making such a statement.”

Jaylah trades a pointed look when Leonard before leaning closer to Spock. “So why is it that neither you or wife filed a police report when these incidents occurred?” she asks. With a shrug, his partner cocks her head. “If my ex was coming to my apartment and trying to disrupt my life, I would want a paper trail. For the purposes of having him arrested or to obtain a restraining order.”

“Jim has already had a hard enough life,” Spock says stoically. “Adding to it would only be putting more fuel on the fire.”

“You aren’t afraid of your or your wife’s safety?”

Spock shakes his head. “Not particularly.”

“But in your initial statement, you and your wife mentioned that Mr. Kirk had an unpredictable and violent temper, leading to several incidents where he threatened bodily harm to you both as well as caused property damage,” Leonard reads from his notepad. With a quick glance, he finds Spock’s eyes narrowing at him. Offering a well-meaning grin, he continues. “It’s an odd statement in retrospect, don’t you think?”

The doctor shifts uncomfortably. “As I said before, Jim has had a hard life,” Spock replies, mindful of his choice of words.

“You mentioned that,” Leonard retorts.

“Are you trying to infer something, detective?” the other man inquires.

He shrugs. “I just find the contradictions convenient,” Leonard answers. “Almost like a character assassination. How well _did_ you know Mrs. Marcus-Mitchell?”

“Not well,” Spock intones as he stands up. Buttoning his jacket, he puts his glasses back on. “If that will be all, I must return to work.”

Both detectives follow suit. “Could you just explain one last thing to me, doctor?” Leonard questions, watching as Spock rolls his eyes.

“Yes, but after this, I must go.”

“It will only take a second,” the detective assures. “How is it that Mr. Kirk ended up with three cracked ribs and a concussion when the ER doctors at St. Francis noted his BAC being point two-five over the legal limit? My understanding is that he would have severe motor impairment, too severe for him to start tearing your house apart.”

There is a brief moment where Spock is caught off guard by the question and pales at Leonard’s words before collecting himself. “We’re done here, Detective McCoy,” he snaps with a glare. “If you have any other questions, you may contact my attorney.”

Leonard watches his retreat until Jaylah nudges him in the side. “Way to lay it on thick, boss,” she jibes.

“He’s spooked,” Leonard observes.

“Well, both Kevin and Cupcake expressed their doubts about his story,” Jaylah comments as they go to leave. She puts her sunglasses on, blocking out the glare once they’re outside.

He follows suit, wincing at the brightness now that the morning clouds have burned off. “Don’t call him that,” Leonard grouses while they walk towards their car.

“Cupcake?” his partner asks in mock innocence. She’s smiling mischievously as she retrieves the keys from her jacket. “If the shoe fits, boss…”

Groaning, Leonard shakes his head. “You’re a lawsuit waiting to happen, Zaidi,” he grumbles despite his lips twitching into a smile.

 

* * *

 

Carol Marcus-Mitchell’s husband, Gary, makes a tearful plea during a press conference out of their home for his wife’s safe return week after she goes missing; the second of many.

Jim wouldn’t know this; he’s two days into alcohol withdrawal and wishing he’d never been born.

Between the profuse sweating, crippling anxiety, visual hallucinations that are _finally_ beginning to taper off, and soul-crushing nausea, he regrets every single time he put a glass of alcohol to his lips. Even with the cocktail of medication designed to lessen his symptoms, he’s still miserable. His skin feels hot, as if it will melt off his bones, and when his head doesn’t feel like an elephant is sitting on it, Jim whimpers into the pillows given to him by one of the nurses.

The staff at the rehab center are nice enough and try to ease his suffering. None of them balk when he misses the emesis bag and ends up vomiting on the floor. Even as Jim screams, cries, and curses himself into an uneasy sleep, they are nothing but kind.

“Just a little more,” a nurse by the name of Christine Chapel implores as she spoons him some chicken broth, the only edible thing his stomach will tolerate besides water. “It will make you feel less like shit.” She is an eternally patient and funny blonde haired woman with clear azure colored eyes who has been one of his primary caretakers.

The other is his sponsor, a Scottish man by the name of Montgomery Scott or Scotty, as he aptly prefers. He is a slight man with receding light brown hair and an ever-present smile on his face. His happiness is infectious and Jim likes him immediately, despite the grave circumstances of their first meeting. “This is the worst part,” Scotty assures as he dabs the younger man’s fevered brow. “And to think, you’ll _never_ want another glass of bourbon again!”

“Don’t say that word,” Jim mumbles as his stomach lurches. He presses his face into his pillow. “I might throw up on you.”

Together, Christine and Scotty work in tandem to help Jim through the worst of his withdrawal until one day he wakes up exhausted as if he’s battled through a serious illness. That’s exactly what alcoholism is, and it doesn’t fail to resonate with him.

It’s the same afternoon another plea for Carol’s safe return is issued, though Jim has no idea. He’s been secluded from the outside world during detox and is only now completely lucid. While Dr. Dehner oversees an IV line put into the top of his hand as a means to add extra hydration and vitamins to his system, Chris and his wife, Majel— whom his uncle lovingly calls Number One—visit him.

Their stay is brief, for Jim’s exhausted; he’s curled up in bed with a quilt made by his grandmother tucked around him. Chris and Dr. Dehner converse about the next steps in his treatment, their voices drifting from the hallway and into his room where Majel keeps him company. She strokes his freshly washed hair as she whispers how proud they and his friends—Hikaru, his boyfriend Ben, and Gaila—are of him.

“The worst part is over,” Majel tells him with a kind smile. “You’re going to beat this, cookie, and if you have setbacks, we’re all here for you.”

A tired smile tugs at his lips; it’s the kind of thing he needs to hear right now. Encouragement of any sort is good since Jim is in the early stages of the rehabilitation process. He’s made it through his intake and now detox, but starting tomorrow he will be facing down his demons in the form of therapy and whatever activities Dr. Dehner feels are vital to his recovery.

Jim's seen a shrink a grand total of once just after his parents and Sam were killed. Chris and Majel had insisted on it and, not wanting to start an argument, he went. Jim recalls the dated and patchouli-scented office of the therapist and how they started at each other for the better part of an hour.

It had been the single most uncomfortable hour in all of the then twenty-one-year-old Jim Kirk’s life. More uncomfortable than the events preceding it.

Now he wishes he gave it more of a chance because, perhaps, Jim wouldn’t have ended up in the hole he dug himself.

 

* * *

 

Rehab is not what he expected.

He realizes this the day of another candlelight vigil for Carol that’s held in Buena Vista Park. Jim is standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, looking at his reflection and wondering how long it’s been since he’s recognized the face staring back. He looks _alive_ , for lack of a better word; he’s been eating regularly and running again, a hobby he had long since given up. He’s put weight back on, somewhere between fifteen and twenty pounds if the snugness of his jeans' waistband is accurate, which has been good for him. The light in his eyes has come back along with a healthy blush on his cheeks.

Even when Scotty teases him with the usual, “Sir James Tiberius Perfect-Hair, are you admirin’ your reflection,” he can suppress his eye roll and biting comment about his sponsor’s lack of follicles.

His mind grows sharper as his body grows stronger, which is probably for the best since now he’s subjected to therapy. Without alcohol, he’s able to dissect his downward spiral with Dr. Dehner, something Jim purposely avoided for years. During his first two private sessions with Elizabeth, Jim spent them sobbing in the overstuffed armchair in her office.

Then they talk. It begins with how he coped upon losing his family; school afforded him the ability to throw himself into his studies. He drank like every other college student, but it hadn’t become a problem yet. After graduation, Jim traveled through Europe before returning to California.

“Tell me about your ex-husband,” Elizabeth asks one day as she sits across from him with her pad and pen.

Jim fidgets uncomfortably and for a split second, wonders if this is some sort of trick. “What do you want to know?” he replies carefully.

“Anything you want to tell me,” she says with a gentle smile. Elizabeth reminds him of his mom, straight to the point and kind. “Perhaps you can start at the beginning?”

So he tells her how they met: at a party in one of those warehouse conversion lofts in SOMA. They reached for the same beer; Jim had been distracted by Gaila forcing Hikaru to dance until he noticed warm fingers wrapped around his own. Looking up, he found himself drowning in the brown pools of Spock’s eyes. He had never seen irises so dark and hadn’t realized he was gawking until the other man raised a thick, black brow.

“I have heard,” he began to say, “that staring is considered rude.”

Jim remembers stuttering an apology as a blush crept up his cheeks and walking away. During the course of the party, he found Spock watching him through the crowd, offering an amused grin whenever their gazes met. He finally mustered the courage to properly introduce himself, never thinking that this man who he fell in love with and eventually marry would push him towards such a destructive path.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Jim comments to Elizabeth one day. He is picking at some pilling on his sweater. “Not realizing that someone could be so bad for you.”

Dr. Dehner sighs. “I wouldn’t call it stupid,” she says.

“What would you call it then?”

“Human nature,” Elizabeth replies, earning a curious stare from her patient. “You fell in love with a man who accepted you and your past without question.” She notices Jim wincing. “What is it?”

He shrugs, dropping his sweater onto his lap. “I don’t think he ever fully accepted me or my past,” Jim tells her. “Spock wanted to. At least that’s what I’d like to believe but when it came down to it, he didn’t like having to deal with the burden.”

“Burden?” the doctor questions. “The burden of your past or the burden being _you_?”

Jim nods as tears sting his eyes. “He thought— _thinks_ —I’m a burden.” The tap of liquid hitting the tops of his jean covered thighs fills the silence of the room. “Spock likes everything to make sense; he’s very logical about how he conducts his life. Each piece of it has a place. When I wasn’t able to meet his expectations, he lashed out.”

He thinks about all the morning afters; waking up in their bed with a sour stomach and aching head. Spock would be getting dressed, his movements angry and his expression even angrier. Jim tried to make a joke of the night before as he reached for his husband, beckoning him back to bed.

Then came that tone. The one filled with a quiet rage that explained what he did, the embarrassment he caused, how he enjoyed watching Spock lose his temper and then cowered in the corner while he watched his husband react.

“I don’t remember,” Jim remembers saying every single time this happened, which was more often than he cares to admit now. Parts would filter back like pieces to a puzzle, but never all of it.

A sneer would form on Spock’s face. “Of _course_ you don’t,” he’d snap. “Why am I not surprised?” was another one of his ex-husband’s favorites.

The arguing would start and quickly escalate to screaming and shouting, slamming doors and stomping footsteps. Spock accusing Jim of behaving the way he did on purpose—to provoke him into violence—and Jim telling him it had nothing to do with him. Spock would leave their home and never say where he was going or when he would be back. Sometimes it was several hours, other times it was days.

Looking back, he knows where his ex-husband went; straight into Nyota’s waiting arms. How convenient it had been for them to fall in love while Jim was falling apart.

When Spock did come back, he appeared tired and almost sheepish as he approached Jim. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, reaching to cup his husband’s cheek.

“I’ll try to curb the drinking,” Jim would promise, to which Spock bent in to kiss him.

The funny thing, he realizes now, is how his ex-husband was the one pushing the alcohol into his waiting hands, encouraging the decline of his sobriety. He expertly manipulated his memories and lied and lied until Jim walked in on Spock and Nyota in bed together.

“Jim?” Dr. Dehner calls.

He blinks, finding himself staring at her. She doesn’t seem overly concerned with her patient’s sudden lapse into silence; it’s probably normal after all. Jim straightens his posture. “He’s a master at it, making me feel as though everything’s my fault, making me feel worthless,” he states, “until I finally believed him.”

“How about now?” Elizabeth asks, putting her pen down and folding her hands over her lap. “Do you still feel that way?”

“No,” Jim answers, shifting his eyes towards the window. It’s a rare cloudless day in San Francisco; he can see straight to the ocean from the clinic. “Not anymore.”

 

* * *

 

Leonard McCoy finds his existence brushing alongside Jim’s the same evening the former is called to the S’chn T’gai-Uhura residence and the latter has his first night terror since he was twenty-four.

The detective’s cell phone goes off while he and Jaylah are eating greasy Chinese food just off Grant Street. It’s been a quiet evening which is both a blessing and curse. Leonard surmises that once they’re finished with their late dinner, that restless feeling will return to his bones and he’ll almost wish for _something_ —whether it be tied to the Marcus-Mitchell disappearance or another crime—to happen.

His silent prayers are answered. Wiping his fingers on a flimsy paper napkin, Leonard picks up the call when he sees Dispatch’s number pop up on the touch screen. “McCoy,” he answers.

“Just got a possible prowler call from one of your eyewitnesses on the Marcus-Mitchell case,” Janice Rand tells him as she smacks her gum in his ear. “Thought you’d like to head over and take a look.”

He raises a brow. “You thought correctly,” he says. “Which one?”

“Dr. S’chn T’gai and Dr. Uhura,” the dispatcher replies.

Leonard inwardly groans as his thoughts immediately jump to Jim Kirk, wondering what mess he’s gotten himself into this time. “Did they give a description?” he asks while Jaylah motions for their check.

“It’s vague,” Janice says. “Someone in dark clothing, hood covering their face, definitely a man.”

“Who’s been dispatched?”

Another smack. “Decker and Finney,” she replies.

“Let them know we’re coming, but we’ve got to make a stop first,” Leonard tells her before hanging up. “Do you remember how to get to Kirk’s place?”

Jaylah nods as they both stand up and begin pulling on their jackets. “What’s going on?”

“I think we need to pay him a little visit,” Leonard mutters. He palms his face, wondering why that kid was so hung up on his ex. “And perhaps remind him of the anti-stalking laws in California.”

His partner snickers as she follows him to the car. “You sure it’s not because you think he’s cute, boss?”

“Ignoring you,” he grumbles. Leonard didn’t want to have this conversation; hell, he didn’t even want to admit to needing to have this conversation in the first place. It was his own fault for not locking the door to his office when he had Kirk’s file spread out in front of him and Jaylah walked in.

He had been holding the same old photo of the kid between his thumb and index finger, staring into his bright, alert eyes and happy smile. It was a habit of his now; wondering what went wrong between the time some unknown person snapped Jim Kirk’s face for his driver’s license to the ill man that sat across from him nearly a month ago.

As much as Leonard disliked Spock, he couldn’t blame his ex-husband’s demise solely on him. He thought of every single scenario and never came close to an answer. There were times Leonard wanted to pick up the phone just to check in on the kid, maybe offer him a sympathetic ear.

“Jim and Leonard sittin’ up a tree,” Jaylah teases once they’re heading in the direction of the kid’s apartment in Cole Valley. She flashes him a winning smile, her teeth glinting in the darkened car. “You really have that scowl down pat, boss.”

Leonard rolls his eyes. “It’s meant to keep you quiet,” he tells her.

“Fat chance of _that_ happening,” she laughs.

The drive is fraught with his partner’s relentless teasing and his own grumbling. In truth, he adores Jaylah and thinks of her as the sister he never had. Becoming friends with her was easy, despite her being nearly a decade younger than himself. She’s fiercely loyal, intelligent, and wise beyond her years.

Too wise, apparently, because Jay is cottoned on to the fact that Leonard may have a crush on a man who needs help rather than someone trying to date him. Just thinking of the kid’s blank expression makes his heart ache.

They pull up outside of Jim Kirk’s residence, a neat Victorian split into apartments on a quiet street. It’s an interesting paradox between the person who lives there and his surroundings. As Leonard and Jaylah get out of the car, a couple walks by with their dog and offers them a friendly good evening before continuing on.

“He and his roommate have the second floor,” his partner says as she points towards the top story where light shows through the bay window.

Leonard nods as he takes a step forward. “What’s the roommate’s name?”

“Hikaru Sulu,” Jaylah answer, following him. “Seemed like a nice enough guy when I met him.”

“Nice enough to tell the truth or lie for his friend?” he questions, tilting his head at his partner while she rings the buzzer.

She shrugs. “Honestly, he’d probably tell us the truth if he thought it would get Kirk some help.”

Oncoming foot falls make the stairs behind the door creak. During the occupant’s trek, a light is flipped on and reveals a man’s shadow. The deadbolt and lock jiggle with movement before the front door to Kirk’s residence opens. A tall man of Asian descent with broad shoulders appears, looking puzzled at Leonard and Jaylah. “Hi?” he greets with uncertainty.

“You must be Hikaru’s boyfriend,” Jaylah says, taking the lead as she’s more familiar with Kirk’s roommate. She extends her hand for him to shake and smiles. “Ben, right? I’m Detective Zaidi with the SFPD. This is Detective McCoy, my partner. Is Jim or Hikaru home?”

Before Ben can reply, a voice calls down. “Who is it, babe?” A shirtless man comes down the stairs, squinting as he puts on his glasses. Judging by the recognition on his face, this must be Hikaru Sulu. “Detective Zaidi,” he says, appearing confused as he goes to shake Jaylah’s hand. He spares Leonard a glance and a smile. “Do you want to come up?”

The inside of Hikaru and Jim’s apartment is tidy for two bachelors. A vacant nest of blankets and pillows rests upon the couch while a muted television program continues on in the background. Next to a turned over book are two mugs of tea, recently made as they are still thick with steam. Ben disappears into the kitchen to give them privacy.

“Is everything okay?” Hikaru asks as he pulls on a sweatshirt. He gestures for them to sit down and joins them in an overstuffed chair.

“Is Jim around?” Leonard inquires.

Hikaru raises both of his eyebrows as his forehead wrinkles. “No,” he says, his answer causing Leonard’s stomach to sink. “He’s been in rehab.”

“Rehab?” Jaylah echoes, exchanging a look with her partner. “How long ago did he check in?”

Hikaru thinks on this for a moment. “About three weeks ago,” he finally tells them as he turns towards the kitchen. “Ben - he’s been at the Kelvin Center for three weeks, right?”

“Almost four,” the other man calls back. He appears in the doorway. “Maybe it’s been a month already.”

Leonard glances between the couple before settling his eyes on Hikaru. “Do you know how tight they are with privileges?”

“You’re asking if he can leave,” Hikaru comments. He makes room for his boyfriend on the chair and they squeeze together, bodies overlapping. “No, he’s not allowed to leave the grounds. We—me, Ben, other friends, and his aunt and uncle—can go over there as often as we like.”

Ben nods in agreement. “Jim is definitely not bored, though. They keep him busy with activities when he’s not in therapy,” he adds.

“So there’s no way he can leave the grounds?” Leonard is a bit stunned by the turn of events. He half expected to find Jim hiding in a closet, drunk and repentant, when they arrived at his apartment.

Now he’s not even here and hasn’t been in weeks.

Both men nod in reply. “Do you know what made him check in?” the detective asks. “From what his uncle told me, it seemed like Jim didn’t want to get help.”

“We have no idea,” Hikaru says with a shrug. “One minute, Detective Zaidi is taking him in for questioning and the next, Jim shoves a list of all his hiding places within the apartment at me and tells us he’s going to rehab.” He leans into Ben’s side and sighs sadly. “While Chris and Ben were dumping out his stash, Majel and I helped him pack. His aunt and uncle drove him over the morning after.”

Ben leans over to peck Hikaru’s forehead and whispers something in his ear that makes his boyfriend chuckle. He turns to Leonard and Jaylah, grinning. “Jimmy’s doing a lot better, though,” Ben assures. “Gained some weight, began running again. He’s starting to look like himself.”

“Did something happen?” Hikaru asks. His features darken after a moment. “Did Spock call you guys?” The silence is telling enough and he curses under his breath. “God, can’t he just _stop_?”

“Baby,” Ben intones.

The other man shakes his head. “No,” he snaps “Every _fucking_ time something happens—glass breaking, a noise, dogs farting—he and his bitch of a wife always blame Jim! And the worst part is, he believes them.”

“Touchy subject?” Jaylah suggests.

Hikaru crosses his arms over his chest and nods. “You could say that,” he mutters. “Spock is a lying sack of shit and I’m glad it finally bit him in the ass.”

 

* * *

 

His surroundings fade into focus as Jim walks through a non-descript house.

It’s strange to watch his world rebuilding in front of him, like paint touching water and swirling into objects. Some of them he remembers, others are from fleeting moments tucked away in the deep recesses of his mind. Jim’s bare feet touch the runner, something he and Spock purchased when the latter moved in and tucked away in the hallway of their home.

The house is no longer his but in the possession of his ex-husband and Nyota. This realization, among others, doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.

Dreams have come in abundance since Jim completed detox; most of them are nonsensical images of events long passed. It’s as if his mind is trying to make sense of the last few years and putting the pieces back into their proper spaces.

Why he’s inside of his old home is beyond Jim. He touches the banister and watches as his fingertips trace over the polished wood, going up towards the second floor.

With one foot before the other, Jim walks up the stairs. Dark curls around the upper level like a mysterious lover, coy and seductive with a secret upon their lips. He recalls how he always hated being alone in this house, especially at night.

 _Old houses have the most history;_ Spock would tell him. _And the most secrets to uncover._

Jim swallows as he comes upon the last step and finds himself in the company of an antique grandfather clock chiming away. The hands spin rapidly—it makes sense as this is just a dream—and suddenly he feels as if he’s Alice and this house is Wonderland.

A shout, followed by glass breaking fills the second floor. Jim peeks around the corner to find light coming from the master bedroom and a chorus of voices. What they say, he has no idea, for they are garbled like ham radio frequencies.

He walks closer, keeping his steps quiet since he feels like an intruder in his own home. It’s strange because in towards the end of his marriage to Spock, he was. This house, the one he bought, the one they made into a place of their own was no longer his.

A crack of light comes from a space between the door and its frame. The voices are louder now, one more so than the other. Chaos builds from the bedroom in the form of shouting, crying, and objects crashing to the ground.

For a single, uncomfortable moment, Jim believes he’s remembering one of the many nights he came home in a rage and destroyed whatever he could get his hands on. The hours of blackness that Spock would tell him about later.

“Stop crying!” one of the voices demands. “Stop fucking crying!”

The other person’s sobs grow louder, as if they’re no longer upset, but fearful.

“Didn’t you hear me!” the first voice screams. They must grab the other, for they wail. A slap follows and another. “Stop crying!”

Jim nears the door and holds his breath as he peers through the crack, afraid of what he’s about to witness. The madness he put Spock through, all of the pain and emotional battery of a husband whose demons were unleashed.

What he sees is beyond his wildest nightmares.

Lying on the ground is himself as he holds his arm up for protection. His downturned face is flushed to the roots of his disheveled hair and spreads to his trembling shoulders. “Spock,” his dream-self whimpers, turning to look up and revealing his wet cheeks. “Please stop.”

A pale hand snaps out, slapping him straight across the face. The other Jim’s head is thrown back the movement, causing him to topple to the floor. “Do not tell me what to do,” Spock hisses. He stands over the other man with his fists balled at his sides. “You’re a drunk! You can’t even control yourself!”

“Baby, please,” the dream Jim tells him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“You’re not sorry!” Spock shouts as he grabs the younger man and hauls him to his feet. He’s the only thing keeping him upright, for whatever good it does. “Look at the mess you caused!”

The other man’s sobbing ceases long enough for him to make sense. “But you…”

“You _made_ me do _this_!” his ex-husband insists, giving Jim’s counterpart a shake hard enough to induce whiplash.

Back away from the door, he stumbles down the hallway until he finds a place to collapse in. He recalls this evening and the reprehensible act he made his husband—gentle, kind, and loving Spock—do. Jim had come home from a happy hour with friends to find his husband seething with an uncontrollable rage. He may never know what caused it, perhaps the idea of Jim enjoying himself without his company or something that had absolutely nothing to do with him but he had woken up on the floor the next morning with flecks of plaster in his hair and on his clothes.

The bedroom appeared as if a hurricane came through, from the overturned nightstand to the fist-sized hole in the wall. When his eyes fell upon Spock, whose right hand was bandaged up, Jim knew he didn’t have to explain. The sadness and remorse reflected on his husband’s face were telling enough.

Pulling his knees to his chest, he swallows down the bile burning his throat. All of those memories lost, they are starting to filter back now.

 _What else did I block out?_ Jim asks himself as the door flies open. With a startled cry, he jumps to his feet only to find himself outside of the Marcus-Mitchell household.

It’s still night and there’s a drizzle wetting his hair. Looking down at himself, he’s no longer wearing his pajamas but his normal clothes for when he goes out. Jim studies his appearance, muses how strange his headspace is when someone bumps into him.

“My apologies,” a woman with an English accent says to him.

He reaches out to steady her and realizes he’s staring at Carol Marcus-Mitchell. Her blonde hair is tied back into a ponytail, though several strands have come undone. From running, he guesses by the looks of the workout clothes and a pair of Nike sneakers she’s wearing.

“Are you all right?” she asks, peering into his eyes. Her elegant brows raise in concern.

Jim nods. “I’m fine,” he whispers, letting her go. “Sorry,” he adds.

“It makes us even,” Carol teases with an effortless smile and like that, she’s off running into the darkness.

He watches her retreat until she vanishes from sight, not even the echoes of her footsteps follow. Shrugging, Jim takes a step forward, straight into a figure’s claw-like hand that wraps around his throat.

He launches himself off his bed, landing on the hard floor of his room as a terrified scream tears out of his mouth. In his nightmare-plagued delirium, Jim’s legs are being grabbed by his attacker, not the blankets tangled around his flailing limbs.

“Mr. Kirk!” someone calls as they rush into the room. They pull him away from the bed, towards the center of the room where Jim is no longer in danger of hurting himself further. “Mr. Kirk, it’s all right!”

Their hands are still clutching him when Jim opens his eyes, temporarily blinded by the lights of his room. He winces, bringing a trembling hand to shield his pupils from the onslaught. His entire body is shaking as he lies on the floor surrounded by Pavel, one of the other nurses, and Christine as they look upon him in worry.

“Are you back with us?” Christine questions. She squats down next to him, offering a comforting grin and her hand.

Jim nods, taking her hand and allowing the nurse to pull him upright. “Nightmare,” he whispers.

“Do you need anything, Mr. Kirk?” Pavel asks as he bounces on his heels.

His temples are pulsing with the beginnings of a headache, which he rubs with fingers while Christine pats his back. Without having to say a word, she already knows. “He’s allowed aspirin,” Jim hears her explaining to the other nurse. “Could you bring us four hundred milligrams and some water?”

Pavel eagerly nods, his chestnut curls bouncing with the movement. “Right away,” he chirps as he skip-starts into a run.

Jim stays on the floor, not trusting his body to not collapse from under him if he should stand, while Christine straightens up the sheets on his bed. “You don’t have to do that,” he tells her.

“I know,” Christine replies, flashing a smile over her shoulder.

“Is this your way of telling me I’m your favorite patient?” Jim teases while watching her fluff his pillows.

She gives him a gentle push and shakes her head. “Don’t press your luck.”

Once his bed has been remade and he’s certain he can move, Jim goes to sit on the mattress just as Pavel comes back in. He takes the pills and water with a grateful nod before ingesting them, then lifting his tongue for Christine to check that he’s swallowed them. He finishes the water under the nurses’ watchful eyes and hands back the empty bottle once it’s been drained.

“Do you need anything else?” Christine asks as Jim tucks himself in. She’s standing by the door with her finger on the light switch.

He lifts his head off the pillows and shakes it. “I think I’m good now,” he assures her.

“Okay. If you need something, just scream, shout, knock things over,” Christine tells him with a smirk. “Cause a ruckus. You know—the usual.”

“You adore me and you know it, Nurse Chapel,” Jim calls after her as she shuts off the lights and leaves his room.

At some point in the night—he doesn’t know how much time has passed since he was last awake—Jim hears a pair of people just outside his door. They are trying to keep their voices down as the other residents are sleeping as well.

“A detective?” one of them says as they crack open his door.

He’s in that state of consciousness where he’s mostly still asleep, though if pushed Jim could wake. All he knows is that it’s strange to learn that a detective is interested in his whereabouts. Rolling onto his stomach, Jim smacks his lips together as he nuzzles the pillow under his head and absently wonders if they mean Detective McCoy.

Jim would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of him. Where most people looked at him with pity in their eyes, Leonard McCoy seemed to stare right into the depths of his soul and understood the pain ravaging every iota of his being. To even think of it feels almost familiar, as if their lives have always been intertwined rather than them being strangers.

“Yeah,” the other replies. “He asked Nurse Chapel to verify that Mr. Kirk was here and hadn’t left the premises.”

The first voice makes an incoherent sound. “Huh,” they mumble. “Wonder why.”

“Right? Must have been a welfare check from a friend who didn’t know he was here,” the second one guesses.

“Well, he’s here,” the first person whispers as Jim begins to slip back under, relishing the heaviness of his limbs and that gentle tug guiding him back.

They may comment further about the strangeness of the phone call, but whatever is said next is lost upon him as he’s already fallen asleep.

 

* * *

 

When they arrive at Dr. S’chn T’gai and Dr. Uhura’s residence, Ben Finney is radioing into dispatch.

He gives them a wave before responding back to the dispatcher. “Matt’s inside with them,” Finney says, gesturing towards the house. “The husband is pretty amped up; something about his ex harassing them.”

“Thanks, Ben,” Leonard tells him, clapping him on the shoulder before proceeding into the Victorian. It’s a beautiful home, that much is apparent in the cold evening, and a lot of work has gone into making it as such. _And a lot of money,_ he thinks bitterly as he pictures Jim’s face.

He and Jaylah find Matt Decker inside of the front living room with the owners of the house. Spock has his arm draped over a striking woman’s deep caramel shoulders where her silk robe droops. Nyota Uhura is tall and willowy, the proverbial night to her husband’s day. If Leonard recalls correctly, she’s a doctor over at General; something about pediatrics or surgery, maybe both.

In another lifetime, she might have been a dancer or model, though Leonard doubts it would have held her attention for long. He notices a quickness to her dark eyes, that underlying intelligence people may take for granted because of her beauty.

“I assure you, officer, that we already know who you should be arresting,” the doctor says, worrying his thumb over Nyota’s shoulder.

She sighs. “Spock,” she complains, frowning at him. “We decided…”

“I know,” he tells her, noticing Leonard and Jaylah standing in the doorway before he is able to launch into an explanation. “Detectives. I did not realize that prowlers were also your jurisdiction.”

Leonard forces a smile. “Only when they are several houses over from a missing person’s residence,” he answers.

“Poor Carol,” Nyota says sadly. “And Gary.” She turns to her husband, alarm tightening her features. “Do you think? Maybe it wasn’t him…”

Decker rolls his eyes as he taps his pen impatiently. “Him being?”

“Jim Kirk,” Spock states before his wife can stop him. She sulks and crosses her arms over her chest. “Nyota, if we don’t say something, it will only get worse.”

The officer nods. “Is this a former flame of yours, Dr. Uhura?” he asks as he begins to take notes.

“He’s actually my…” Spock starts to correct.

Leonard shakes his head. “Matt, you can take Mr. Kirk off your suspect list,” he tells Decker. “His whereabouts have already been verified.”

“By whom?” the doctor demands.

Ignoring him, the detective nods. “Mr. Kirk has been a patient at the Kelvin Center for the last four weeks,” he says. “Detective Zaidi called on our way over and spoke with the nurse on duty. Mr. Kirk is currently asleep in his room.”

To see the stupefied expression on Spock’s face is quite possibly the most gratifying thing Leonard has seen since the Giants won the World Series several years ago. He wants to laugh at the way his mouth hangs open and clicks shut after several moments.

“Well, that’s good,” Nyota carefully says, breaking the silence in the room. She turns to her husband, patting the top of his thigh. “Jim’s finally getting help.”

His lips curl into an adoring smile once he’s had a moment to compose himself. “Yes, it is,” Spock assures warmly.

Hours later while Leonard lies in his own bed, the stark coldness of Spock’s austere face comes to mind. While Jim Kirk may have exposed his demons for all the world to see, his ex-husband keeps his own tucked away under a mask of composure and logical nonsense.

Unluckily for the good doctor, Leonard’s instincts cut through it and he sees Spock for what he truly is: a monster in waiting.

 

* * *

 

It’s another foggy summer day in San Francisco when Jim renews his acquaintance with Leonard McCoy.

He’s been out of rehab for nearly a month and is currently sitting inside of a coffee shop near his apartment. A to-go cup of tea sits on the table along with a half-eaten scone. Jim’s picked at it on and off in such a way where a person has food in front of them but is distracted by something else.

In his case, it’s a battered cosmology textbook he found amongst his things one night. Jim didn’t even remember owning it until he fished it out from the box it resided in and showed it to Hikaru.

So now Jim Kirk sits in his own little world, a sober one, and gets lost in the pages while his surroundings turn into white noise.

It’s strange to be back with the rest of humanity after his stay at the Kelvin Center, not that he regrets going. To walk amongst everyone else with a clear head has been interesting. All of the little things Jim failed to notice—sights, smells, nooks, and crannies—are new to him. He makes adjustments to his sober life; tweaking the smallest detail so he doesn’t slip back into old habits.

Every morning, he goes for a run through Golden Gate Park or sometimes on Ocean Beach with Scotty. As it turns out, his sponsor lives several blocks away, making it easier for them to meet up. The boisterous Scotsman has become a constant in Jim’s life and easily fits in with his existing friendships, for it’s difficult not to like him.

The rest of his schedule consists of three AA meetings a week, plus therapy with Dr. Dehner and a yoga class on Cole.

And he dreams—which are growing stranger and more vivid as time goes on—of Carol Marcus-Mitchell. She’s been missing for nearly three months now and making guest appearances in his unconscious world several times a week.

Jim knows he should keep things simple and underwhelming, to help himself merge back into the real world, but there’s a pull he can’t explain. As if Carol is daring Jim to find her while he sleeps at night with her coquettish smile and untold secrets.

“Mr. Kirk?” a baritone drawls, startling Jim out of his reading. Upon lifting his eyes from the page, he finds himself looking at a tall man with dark hair and hazel eyes, broad-shouldered in a way that Jim will never be.

It takes a few seconds for memory to kick in for him to realize this man is Detective McCoy in the flesh. Nearly three months since they’ve last seen each other and he’s surprised that Leonard managed to recognize him. There are days when Jim does a double take in the mirror and wonders if he’s gone back in time before he remembers.

He’s getting better now.

“Bones,” Jim replies, grinning as he closes his book and sets it on the table. “How’ve you been?”

Leonard appraises him with a careful eye before responding. “Pretty good,” he says. “Busy.” He pauses and begins to shift his weight from one leg to the other. “Heard you went to…”

He stumbles over the word, uncertain if he’s allowed to even mention it out of politeness. Jim finds it incredibly endearing. “Rehab?” he supplies. “Hikaru told me you and your partner came by.”

“Yeah, we did.” The detective’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Sorry about that.”

Jim chuckles as he waves it off. “You were just doing your job,” he assures. He gestures to the empty seat at his table. “Do you want to sit down? Or is it not allowed?”

“Uh, sure,” Leonard says ineloquently. A dimpled smile appears as he sits and sets his coffee down to remove his jacket, revealing a silver chain that falls into the V-neck of his shirt. “What about you?”

The younger man shrugs. “I’ve been pretty good,” he says, reaching for his cup of tea and bringing it to his mouth. “Adjusting,” Jim adds before taking a sip.

“Has that been difficult?”

Jim shakes his head. “Not as much as you’d think,” he admits with a chuckle. “It’s mostly been relearning how to go about my day sober.”

Leonard raises his brows over the rim of his coffee. “Fighting cravings?”

“Nah,” Jim says. “Detox made me rethink giving into the urge to drink, that’s for sure. Mostly just remembering what it was like… _before_.” He hears a sympathetic grunt fall from Leonard’s lips, causing him to look up in time to see the detective’s nod. “Are you…”

Leonard doesn’t strike him as the type to be a recovering alcoholic but never say never. If anything, Jim’s learned that anyone can be an addict.

“No,” the other man answers while he fiddles with his drink. “One of my cousins is; she’s been sober for a little over a decade. It wasn’t easy though. Took a hell of a long time for her to get it.” He offers him another smile and a wink. “Glad that you’re a quick learner.”

He laughs, hoping it hides the blush crawling up his cheeks. “You’re welcome, then.”

“You look great,” Leonard compliments, gesturing to Jim’s appearance. “I almost didn’t recognize you when I walked by!”

“Honestly,” he begins to say as he leans over the table like he’s about to tell the detective a secret, “sometimes I can’t believe what a good looking guy I am.”

His joke makes the other man snort into his coffee. “Is the ego something you picked up in rehab?” Leonard teases back.

“I’m not supposed to say this, industry secret and all, but they give it to you when you graduate,” Jim admits, winking.

Leonard rolls his eyes. “Is that so?”

“Scout’s honor, Bones!”

The detective narrows his eyes, inspecting Jim’s face as he lifts his coffee to his lips. “Hrm,” he mumbles before making a face. “Dammit - drank it all already.”

“Good thing you’re already in a coffee shop,” the younger man teases.

“Ha,” Leonard groans. “You’re a one-man comedy show. Do you want another?”

Jim lifts the lid of his own beverage to find that it’s nearly gone, save for one last sip of water. “Sure,” he says. “It was black tea.”

Leonard’s brow arches, making him resemble a mad scientist. “One black tea coming up,” he tells Jim while walking towards the register.

He watches the detective’s retreat and the way he interacts with those around him. It’s an interesting paradox having seen Leonard while he’s on the job and now, lacking his badge and authoritarian expression. Without those distinct items, Jim finds it surprisingly easy to talk to him.

Leonard comes back, carrying a cup in each hand with a smile upon his lips. “For you,” he says, handing one of them to Jim. “I never pegged you for a tea drinker.”

Sitting across from him gives Jim the opportunity to truly admire Leonard. Even though they were in the same room for a little over two hours, he hadn’t really concentrated on the detective for fear that he was about to be arrested.

Leonard’s heart-shaped face has a dusting of scruff over his golden skin. It’s the type of complexion that no matter how many cloudy days loom over the city, it will never change in hue. Several beauty marks dot it, though most are so faint that Jim noticed them until now. There’s a mole near his mouth and Jim can only imagine pressing his lips to it just before kissing the other man.

While the detective has handsome features in abundance, it’s his eyes that stand out the most. The grey light from outside reveals an array of colors swirling together within the hazel irises. His genetic code has expertly placed each shade, ranging from a shadowy evergreen at the outer edges that gradients to a glacial moss with smudges of brown and amber near Leonard’s pupil.

He’s so damn beautiful; Jim wonders why this man is even giving him the time of day. The detective certainly knows he’s a mess—or at least is recovering from being one—and could have anyone he wanted.

“This is a new thing,” the younger man explains while he puts honey into his drink. “Coffee makes me want to add whiskey to it.” He shrugs. “Kind of defeats the purpose of rehab.”

The detective snorts. “I would say so,” he chuckles in agreement.

 

* * *

 

Leonard’s days off never go as he expects them to.

He has a list of to-dos that only grows in length and just looking at it makes him grunt in annoyance. There are the usual chores Leonard manages to squeeze in—cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping—but the rest of it falls by the wayside in lieu of more exciting activities. In a city like San Francisco, there is always something to do at a moment’s notice and never enough hours in the day.

However, this is the first time Leonard won’t be complaining about it when he comes back to work in a few more days.

His mouth is pressed up against Jim’s, licking and nipping his way inside while they stumble up the stairs to Jim’s apartment. How they even managed to get the keys out of the kid’s pocket, much less the front door unlocked is beyond Leonard; he doesn’t care. He just wants to taste Jim upon his tongue and touch every inch of his body.

They bump into a wall. Jim’s fists bunch the front of his shirt as he pulls Leonard closer and his lips part with a soft groan. Cupping his jaw, Leonard cradles his face and delves into the hot cavern of Jim’s mouth. He tastes of tea and the slice of pizza he ate while they wandered through Central San Francisco.

Lacing his fingers through strands of dirty blonde hair, Leonard tilts Jim’s face to kiss a pathway towards his throat. A stuttering moan fills his ears, followed by the murmur of ’Bones’, that ridiculous nickname the kid gave him months ago.

He should correct him, but as Leonard grazes his teeth over Jim’s sensitive skin, he just wants to hear it uttered from his lips again.

They disengage themselves from the wall and continue on a path towards what turns out to be Jim’s bedroom. He doesn’t see much of it—only the grey color walls and white trim with a framed photograph of a Da Vinci drawing.

Leonard backs him into the door which shuts under Jim’s weight. His jacket is removed by unsteady hands that end up finding their way under his shirt, caressing his back and tracing a path down his spine. Jim tugs on the waistband of his jeans, pulling towards the direction of his bed.

He’s taking off Jim’s shirt when they fall upon the mattress, dropping it carelessly on the floor and then divesting himself of his own. It gives Leonard pause to truly look Jim over, from his handsome face to his sinewy torso, and right down to his protruding belly button. He traces a fingertip over the other man’s skin, watching it form goosebumps under his touch.

“C’mere,” Jim whispers as he leans up, grinning, and captures Leonard’s mouth with his own.

Leonard sighs into the kiss, allowing himself to be pulled down to the comforter where they continue removing their clothing. Hands and lips are everywhere—chests, nipples, stomachs, hip bones—as their moans fill the room.

“Do you have…” Leonard asks while stroking Jim’s throbbing length. He drops his head into the curve of the other man’s shoulder, groaning as a greedy hand teases his cock.

Jim nods, panting. “Bones,” he whispers, “gotta tell you something.” His words break off into another cry of pleasure as he thrusts into Leonard’s grip.

“What’s that, darlin’?”

When he glances up, he finds a man on the verge. “H-haven’t,” Jim stutters, “done this in a while.” His teeth tug at his bottom lip as Jim tries to suppress another moan. “Kind of a trigger hair, if you get my drift.”

Leonard chuckles and gives Jim’s cock another deft stroke. “How long is a while?”

“T-three years, fuck,” the younger man confesses, throwing his head back.

“Three years, you say?” Leonard echoes. He slips out of Jim’s hand and licks a path down his body, pressing his tongue harder the lower he goes. “Awful long time, darlin’.”

Jim is about to reply when Leonard applies more speed and pressure to his length, using the liberal amounts of precum leaking from his slit to lubricate the way. Leonard bypasses his cock for his balls, where he takes the time to lave each one accordingly. He’s hardly down there long enough to enjoy the weight of them upon his tongue or the scent of Jim’s musk when a sharp cry pierces the air.

Semen spurts onto his fist, hot and thick on his skin. Leonard lifts his head to watch the prettiest picture of Jim trembling under him as he clings to the comforter, incoherent whimpers passing through his lips. Cum smears his flushed skin where it isn’t dripping onto Leonard’s hand.

He strokes him through the aftershocks until Jim has gone soft and regains his senses. Leonard takes the opportunity to climb up the mattress, leaving a path of open mouth kisses in his wake. He pauses at a nipple, sucking the nub until it becomes a hard point before doing the same to its twin. A sigh comes from Jim as he clasps the back of Leonard’s neck, petting it drowsily.

Licking up a droplet of semen off Jim’s collarbone, Leonard goes to bring their mouths together. It takes a moment, but soon Jim returns it with fervor while his hand moves down to his waist.

“Did that take the edge off?” Leonard playfully inquires when they pull apart and he flicks Jim’s earlobe with his tongue.

Jim’s groan is all the confirmation he needs. “I hope you don’t plan on stopping there, Bones.”

He shakes his head while moving back to allow the other man room to lean over towards a nightstand. After some rummaging around in the top drawer, Jim produces a bottle of KY and a three-pack of condoms. Pulling Jim by the calf, Leonard brings him closer for another bruising kiss as he pins his wrists to the bed, all while the younger man chuckles into his mouth.

Leonard takes his time while he fingers Jim open, savoring the piping hotness of him as he stretches his hole. Jim is quiet at first, only watching until a low groan emits from him and he drops his head onto the pillows. Soon he’s meeting every thrust of Leonard’s hand while his cock begins to regain interest.

By the time Leonard has fitted a condom down his length and is pushing into Jim, he can feel the pure want radiating from the other man. A plethora of emotions show on Jim’s face as his hands cling to Leonard’s shoulders and his thighs press against his ribs.

He bottoms out and earns a startled yelp from Jim, who’s nuzzling his face into Leonard’s collarbone. Hot gusts of air dance over his sweaty skin while the younger man adjusts to his girth. Leonard touches his jaw, planting gentle kisses along the curve of it until Jim’s breathing steadies. He doesn’t say a word, not wanting to make the other man feel embarrassed by the passage of time since he’s had sex.

“Holy shit,” Jim moans, amazed as if he’s forgotten what it’s like to have a man be intimate with him or anyone, for that matter. He squeezes his fingers into the meat of Leonard’s shoulder as he bucks his hips a fraction; the sign Leonard needs to proceed in fucking Jim into his own mattress.

It’s loud and unashamed; the kind of sex that charges the atmosphere of the room and leaves both of them with slick skin. Leonard tastes the salt of Jim’s sweat when he goes to kiss him, not caring if the term is too generous for the sloppy, open mouth press of lips. He rubs his thumb over the other man’s cheek, vaguely noticing the wetness under Jim’s eyes when he passes.

Not only has Jim taken back his sobriety, this act between them is him reclaiming his body and its pleasure. He arches into him, his chest touching Leonard’s, as he cries out and cums between their stomachs. Inside of him is like a vice around Leonard’s cock, rippling and tensing until Jim slumps against the bed, spent.

With a moan, Leonard pumps into him once, twice, three times before finding his own release deep inside of Jim’s body. His hips jerk through the small tremors that follow until he too can join Jim in a post-coital haze.

In the hours that follow, Leonard comes to find out that Jim has a mouth like sin and isn’t a cuddler, though he likes to be close enough so the detective can feel his body heat. The younger man has quite possibly the most sensitive prostate Leonard has ever had the pleasure of toying with and enjoys lying back as Jim enthusiastically rides him to yet another orgasm.

After a shower to clean up the mess they’ve made of themselves, Leonard lies awake in the rumpled bed after spending some time napping with the other occupant. It’s evening now and the street lamps from outside are just flickering on.

He turns his head to find Jim next to him, on his stomach and fast asleep. There is something very satisfying in knowing that Leonard is the cause of his current state and the various mouth-shaped bruises on his skin.

This—whatever this is or may turn into—is definitely not a one-off. He’s been wanting to ask Jim to dinner from the moment he laid eyes on him in the coffee shop. Leonard scoots across the mattress until he’s practically on top of Jim. He rubs a hand down the expanse of his back, gently urging him to wake with caresses and gently prodding his cheek with the tip of his nose.

Jim makes an incoherent sound before stretching like a cat. “Hey,” he finally yawns while palming his face. A sleepy grin appears. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, darlin’,” Leonard assures him. He brushes a lock of hair from Jim’s forehead. “Wanted to ask you something.”

“What’s that?”

He lies next to him, sharing the pillow with Jim as he cards his fingers through the other man’s hair. “Did you want to get dinner sometime?”

“With you?” Jim teases. He drapes an arm around Leonard’s waist, chuckling when his question earns a playful swat to his bicep.

Leonard rolls his eyes. “No, the Dalai Lama, you brat!” he grouses over Jim’s laughter. He pulls him closer until their chests are touching and his leg is shoved between both of Jim’s.

“Yeah,” Jim finally says, nodding. “Dinner with you sounds good, Bones.”

“My name is Leonard,” the detective reminds him, leaning in for a kiss.

Jim meets him in the middle, grinning. “I know,” he replies, “but I like Bones better.”

Just as their lips touch, the bedroom door opens while someone turns on the lights and says, “Oh, there you…”

Both of them duck under the comforter, hiding from the intruder. Jim dares to poke his head out after a moment of awkwardness and hisses, “Hikaru! Jesus Christ, learn to knock!”

“I yelled for you,” Hikaru counters, indignant. “For _five_ minutes, Jim!”

Leonard pulls the comforter down to find Jim’s roommate standing in the doorway, looking both bewildered and embarrassed by the scene he’s stumbled into. Once Hikaru realizes who is in Jim’s bed, his face contorts into full-on shock. “Mr. Sulu,” Leonard greets with a genteel wave of his hand.

“Detective McCoy,” Hikaru replies, slowly. He looks between them, trying to piece everything together in the least amount of time. “Nice seeing you again.”

He nods. “Likewise.”

“Is he home?” a female voice calls over the sound of footsteps. “Or did he… _wow_.” A woman with fiery hair appears over Hikaru’s shoulder, her green eyes widening. “Uh…”

Jim palms his face in annoyance and then forces a smile. “Did you guys need something?”

“Just seeing if you wanted to walk down to get tacos,” Hikaru says as he grabs the doorknob. “But you’re busy. Don’t worry about it; carry on!”

Leonard catches Jim glaring at his roommate and snorts back his laughter. “You’re a fucking weirdo, Hikaru!”

“Use protection!” the woman shouts as he shuts the door while Hikaru, still laughing, says, “That was the hot detective I was telling you about!”

Jim slumps against the headboard with a groan and rests his head on Leonard’s shoulder. “So dinner, huh?”

“Tuesday night work for you?”

 

* * *

 

He hasn’t been on a date in longer than Jim cares to admit.

“Didn’t you and your ex-husband go out?” Dr. Dehner asks during their Tuesday session. She is sitting across from him, taking notes. “Once you were married?”

Jim shakes his head after thinking about it. “He was busy with his doctorate.”

“What about after?”

“He was busy with _her_ ,” he replies, his voice oozing with sarcasm. Jim begins to pick at his cuticles, recalling the nights where Spock came home late or not at all. He bought into the excuses and his husband’s smile as he pulled Jim into his arms, whispering the sweetest words.

 _I missed you,_ Spock would say, leading Jim towards the bedroom. _Let me make it up to you._

Unbeknownst to him at the time, Spock had come from Nyota’s apartment where he spent the night in her bed. The touch of her hands and mouth were all over his body, invisible marks that told of his husband’s infidelity. It was only a matter of months before Jim came home early from work to find them in his bed; Spock’s pale fingers caressing Nyota’s hips as she rode him, the sound and scent of their pleasure drifting through the house and the shattering of Jim’s heart.

They might have yelled at him when he fled the house to Hikaru’s, but he doesn’t remember. From the moment he stepped into the street to hail a cab to coming back to himself on his friend’s couch while he sobbed, simply isn’t there. It’s grey matter; nothingness.

An incident so painful that his mind blocked it out entirely.

“Tell me about Leonard,” Dr. Dehner states, earning Jim’s attention.

He grins at the mention of the detective’s name. Jim never expected to run into, much less have sex with him within hours of becoming reacquainted. Now they are hours from their first date, filling Jim with nervous excitement. Leonard has been in constant communication since he spent the night, trading text messages and phone calls when his schedule allows. “He’s nice,” Jim tells her. “And understanding. Funny, too.”

“He knows about your alcoholism?” she questions, smiling when he nods his head. “I’m proud of you for telling him.”

Jim flushes from the praise. “His cousin has been sober for a while,” he says, quietly. “He’s told me about her and how long it took for her to get there. We’re going to the food trucks at Fort Mason. Bones—Leonard—thought it would be nice to walk around. To keep us out of trouble.” He snickers at the last part, remembering how the other man growled it into the receiver, causing Jim to burst out laughing.

“That’s good he understands the struggles you face,” Elizabeth comments, staring at him, intently. “And makes you smile. It’s important to be with someone who does that, Jim.”

He smirks. “Did Chris and Majel tell you to say that?” he teases, earning a chuckle from Dr. Dehner. Thinking about it, he wonders when the last time someone he was interested in made him feel wanted. “I really like him,” Jim confesses, quietly.

“He would be crazy not to feel the same way about you,” she assures with a smile. “If he doesn’t, I know of several therapists who are accepting patients.”

Jim can’t help his laughter; it’s what he likes about Elizabeth.

His session ends and hours pass as they do. Jim goes on a short run towards Ocean Beach before heading home to prepare for his date. He finds Gaila and Ben in the living room, watching a movie while Hikaru is nowhere to be found.

“Where’s my roommate?” Jim inquires as he removes his shoes.

“Kicked him out,” Gaila says without bothering to look at him. “And I’m taking his place. Hope you don’t mind, babe.”

He chuckles and drops a kiss on his friend’s curly red hair. “Never.”

“He’s getting a pizza,” Ben offers as an explanation of Hikaru’s absence. He pries his stare away from the television to glance at Jim’s appearance. “Don’t you have a date you should be getting ready for?”

Gaila perks up upon hearing this and slaps Jim on the arm. “A date?” She glares up at her friend. “How come I wasn’t told of this?”

“Because you’re abusive,” Jim quips, grinning when Gaila lets out an indignant shriek.

“Who is it?” she demands, following him to the bathroom. There she sits on the toilet seat cover and watches him strip down for the shower. Jim knows better than to kick Gaila out and it’s not like she hasn’t seen him naked before. “Is it that cute guy I saw you with last week?”

Jim rolls his eyes, unable to say anything as he’s busy brushing his teeth. Once he spits out the foam and rinsed his mouth, he tells her, “You’re incredibly nosy. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“ _Please_ ,” Gaila snorts as if he’s grown two heads while adjusting the shower. “You love me and you know it. So am I right?”

He steps under the spray of water and shuts the sliding glass door. “Yes,” Jim relents, “you’re right.” A squeal of delight fills the bathroom and he laughs. “Happy now?”

“ _Very_! Tell me about him.”

“Well, he was about to ask me out when you and Hikaru decided to barge in,” he says while cleaning himself. Jim smiles when he hears Gaila’s laughter ringing over the sound of the shower, recalling all the times they’ve had similar conversations.

For all of her exuberance, Gaila has remained a steadfast friend from the moment Nyota introduced them at a dorm party. When the divorce happened, she was quick to cut her former roommate out of her life and stay by Jim’s side as he self-destructed.

She has been there through every hangover, picked him up when he’s woken up in an unfamiliar place, soothed him when he broke down. Now that he’s on the road to recovery, Gaila is one of his biggest cheerleaders.

“So is it true that he’s the same detective that took you in for questioning?” Gaila asks while Jim finishes getting ready in his bedroom. She’s sitting on the bed and munching on a slice of pizza that Hikaru brought back.

Jim raises a brow, his reflection visible to his friend, and smirks. “And if he is?”

“No judgment,” she tells him. “But I wonder if he’ll handcuff you to the bed. You know, give you some _punishment_.”

He pulls a face as he turns around. “Gaila!”

“What?” she replies with a shrug. “A little roleplay never hurt anyone. Besides, I bet you like it when he teaches you a lesson.” Gaila winks mischievously; she’s always been frank when it comes to the topic of sex.

“I’d just like to get through the first date,” Jim groans as he crosses the room to grab his jacket.

Gaila scoffs. “He’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand once you turn up the Kirk charm. Just bat those pretty blue eyes, give him a smile, and this Leonard guy will be toast!”

“Doubt it; I’ll probably get a second date out of it before he realizes he could do better,” he jokes, wrinkling his nose at his friend. “Besides, he’s already seen me at my finer moments and still asked me out…maybe he’s a lunatic?”

“Or maybe he’s the right guy for you,” Gaila offers with a dimpled smile. “At least he already knows that you’re a recovering alcoholic; the awkward part is out of the way.”

Jim goes to peck her on the cheek. “No, that’s the first date,” he tells her.

 

* * *

 

They meet at the Fort Mason gates closest to Marina Green.

Jim finds Leonard easily enough, he’s kind of hard to miss since he’s leaning up against one of the pillars at the entrance while he checks his phone. In the moment he’s caught his date unaware, Jim watches him and wonders what the night has in store for them.

If the first time they hung out is anything to go by, it will be fun and perhaps end up with them naked.

Leonard walks toward him with a smile curling at the edges of his mouth; Jim returns it and moves closer until he’s standing in front of the other man. “Fancy seeing you here,” he teases.

“Likewise,” Leonard says, his eyes hungrily taking in Jim’s appearance. “I’m meeting someone. A first date, you see.”

Jim steps into his sphere, nodding as he brushes his hands over the span of Leonard’s shoulders. “First date? Lucky guy. I’m a little jealous that he gets to go out with you.”

“Hmm.” One of Leonard’s hands goes to his waist, pulling him closer until they are chest to chest. The hand comes up Jim’s back up it rests upon the nape of his neck. “Lucky guy indeed,” he comments huskily as he goes in for a kiss.

He sinks into it, sighing from the first glorious second Leonard’s lips touch his. Jim doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt like a kiss has set his entire being alight. That precious and seductive allure that draws him in as sweetly as it begun, slowly building until all he’s aware of is the taste of Leonard’s mouth and tongue upon his own.

The rest of the world—the traffic, the people, the sounds of the city—fade to white noise; it’s just them in that moment.

It’s more addictive than alcohol could ever be, even as they pull apart to breathe.

“Hey darlin’,” Leonard whispers as he tucks a lock of Jim’s hair back. “Ready for that date?”

“Lead the way,” Jim says, leaning in for another kiss; a quick peck on the lips.

They walk through the maze of food trucks hand in hand, talking and laughing when they aren’t sampling what the event has to offer. Any awkwardness simply isn’t there; Jim feels as if he’s known Leonard forever and it shows in their interactions. They dote upon each other, feeding bites of things to the other and wiping wayward crumbs or sauce from the corner of their mouths.

It’s no surprise that they end up back at Leonard’s apartment, a study of modern lines and colors with a bit of antiquity thrown in. Night has settled over the city when they arrive, coating the sky with a blanket of fog when Jim enters behind the other man.

The apartment is tidy, yet lived in and comfortable. He finds many nooks and crannies adorn with photographs of Leonard with family members or friends, the images capturing him at various ages. Jim steps towards one frame of interest on a bookshelf as his host asks, “Can I get you anything?”

“Water,” he replies. Once Leonard has ventured off to the kitchen, Jim picks the photograph up and finds himself looking at the other man’s face, though a decade or two younger. Surrounded by desert and his comrades, Leonard wears military fatigues and a t-shirt whose sleeves hug his biceps. Dangling from a chain hung over his neck are a pair of dog tags, the very ones Jim has seen but never asked about.

“Air Force,” Leonard says as he comes up behind him, carrying two glasses of water. He gestures to the framed photograph in Jim’s hands. “I was a military doctor like my daddy.”

Jim’s eyes widen. “You’re a doctor?”

“ _Was_ ,” the other man corrects with a smirk. He points to another photograph. “This was taken when I graduated from medical school.”

He follows Leonard’s finger to a black and white picture of the detective wearing a cap and gown with two people Jim guesses to be his parents. He leans forward to inspect the three subjects and grins. “You look a lot like your dad,” he comments. “With your mom’s eyes. How did they take it when you told them you were becoming a cop?”

“They were surprised, but understanding,” Leonard tells him. When Jim turns around, he finds the other man watching him over the rim of his glass. There’s something about Leonard’s gaze—whether it be the green color taking over his irises or the seductive glint in them—that makes Jim realize he’s being seduced.

It’s predatory, though not in a way that causes discomfort. As Leonard sets his glass down and goes to crowd Jim against the bookshelf, his body language reads as if he is saying Jim is his. _Mine,_ he pictures Leonard growling into the shell of his ear. _You’re mine, darlin’_.

Jim watches Leonard as his uses his height to his full advantage, effectively trapping the other man in the warm sphere of his arms and holds his stare. He inches closer, his breath dusting over Jim’s skin long before the neat nub of Leonard’s nose rubs over his jaw. At the first press of featherlight kisses, Jim closes his eyes and sighs.

He would be lying if he didn’t want to sleep with Leonard again; to have their skin pressed up against one another, to feel his hands touch his body and have his mouth follow, to hear Leonard’s moan, to cling to each other all the way to orgasm, and then bask in the afterglow. Jim has thought about it in the days leading up to this very evening and anticipated the fruition of his desires.

Now it’s here, standing right in front of him in the form of a man who has seen him at his worst and hadn’t written him off.

“Darlin’,” Leonard whispers, his slick lips toying with the edge of Jim’s earlobe.

He turns, catching the corner of the other man’s mouth with his own. With a groan, he opens up for Leonard wanting to taste him on his tongue. Clutching at the front of the other man’s shirt, Jim brings him closer and tangles his fingers into Leonard’s hair.

The kiss becomes a clash of teeth, tongue, and lips—the hardness and frantic nature of it all building upon what’s already been laid out for them. Jim senses Leonard’s growing arousal as he’s pressed into every line and plane of him.

“Bones,” he intones, albeit muffled. He digs his fingers into the fabric of Leonard’s shirt to close any gaps between them.

Leonard emits a low, amused growl and quickly goes about the removal of the younger man’s jacket. It falls on the floor, forgotten, to be followed by Jim’s shirt.

He opens his mouth more, allowing Leonard’s tongue to dip in and lick eagerly lick his own. It causes a shiver to travel through his body while Leonard’s hands travel up and down the length of his torso. Each incline and valley of his abdominal muscles, his protruding navel, the sparse hair on his chest—none of it is left untouched by the other man’s roaming hands. Leonard’s thumb rubs against the hard pebble of Jim’s nipple, working it into an over-sensitized nub before doing the same to the other.

They make desperate work of their other clothes, dropping them carelessly as they did the first time, and hurry over to the nearest flat surface. Jim finds himself falling onto the couch and taking Leonard with him.

What transpires between them is built upon pure want. Neither man can get enough of the other as they rut and hungrily run their mouths over whatever skin they can taste.

Jim uses his mouth to suck a bruise onto Leonard’s throat when one of the detective’s hands takes them both into his grasp, stroking their cocks. “Fuck,” he moans, glancing down to see their cockheads pressed together and shining with precum. Shuddering, Jim closes his eyes as his head falls onto a pillow. Wrapping a leg around Leonard’s hips, he cants against his lover, returning each movement with enthusiasm.

“Want to,” the detective pants, “suck you off, darlin’.” He bites at the jut of Jim’s bottom lip. “Want to taste you when you cum.”

A quick change of position happens and soon they are swallowing down each other’s lengths. Muffled moans fill the otherwise quiet room.

Jim digs his fingers into the round globes of Leonard’s ass, squeezing and caressing in time with his mouth. Sex is always enjoyable, but with his lover under him and bearing the most intimate part of himself, the pleasure magnifies. The taste of Leonard spilling onto his tongue, pressing into the cavern of his throat, the way he reacts—all of it makes Jim yearn for more. Sliding a hand down to Leonard’s balls, Jim fondles them while relishing their weight against his palm. His mouth follows, tongue running up and down the ridged flesh to the thin skin of Leonard’s taint where Jim teases the gland hidden underneath.

His lover groans, the vibration traveling straight through Jim’s cock as Leonard’s wicked mouth works his sensitive head. He hears a finger being licked before feeling it rubbing against his hole. Jim spreads his legs further apart, silently urging Leonard to breach him.

The feeling of having his lover inside of him is enough to drive Jim out of his mind. His request is met and the slow burn of Leonard’s finger presses at his opening, gently working it loose. He grips Leonard’s hips, tightening his hold as he takes him deeper into his mouth where the saltiness of precum seeps onto Jim’s tongue.

Leonard cums as Jim is swirling his tongue around his head. The cool air of the living room touches his wet cock as hot breath brushes against his inseam where Leonard moans incoherently onto Jim’s skin. Some of it he can make out; cut off words like _Jim, darlin’, fuck, don’t stop_ said in that lovely drawl that makes his toes curl.

It ends with a cry and semen pulsing onto his tongue, down the tight tunnel of his throat. Jim swallows every last bit of him, moaning in appreciation of Leonard’s taste, until his lover twitches from oversensitivity. He releases the softening length from his mouth and listens to him come back to himself while caressing his hips. Jim only releases them when their owner slides off him.

Jim watches as Leonard mouths a trail down his body, starting from the center of his chest and following an invisible line towards his still hard cock. “Bones,” he whispers when Leonard comes to his hips, worshipping each joint until they are flushed and glistening with saliva.

Leonard continues this, claiming every inch of his body before gracefully pushing Jim over the edge. He squeezes Leonard’s dark brown hair in his fists as his orgasm drags him into its depths, sweeping Jim away until he’s shaking through the aftershocks on Leonard’s couch.

How long they lie there, Jim can’t say. He drifts off with his cheek pillowed on Leonard’s chest while the rest of them are a tangle of limbs.

And he dreams of Carol.

She finds him all the way across town, luring Jim back to the foggy sky looming over Buena Vista Park. He recognizes it instantly, having gone running through there when he and Spock were still together. The moonlight glints off one of the repurposed headstones while Carol hastily claws at the soft ground nearby.

Her manicured nails are ruined in the process, though it matters little to her. Laying next to Carol’s foot is a square object wrapped in plastic. It could be many things—a hard drive, a picture frame, a notebook. Neither of these things matter when she grabs it and tosses it into the hole she’s created.

It’s not the peculiar act that disturbs him, but the expression upon her face. Carol’s features are tightened into the thinness of being haunted or hunted. Her eyes dart around, wild like an animal’s and yet, calculating as if she has deliberated this for some time. Everything about her is out of place—her muddy clothes, the haphazardness of her hair, the way she drags her teeth over her bottom lip.

She knows what’s at stake if she doesn’t go through with this, the concealment of this object. The secrets it holds must be buried, literally. Carol looks around, watching for anyone who may be nearby, before covering it with the soil she unearthed. When it’s done, she wipes at several strands of hair that are stuck to her cheek with sweat, leaving a streak of dirt in its wake.

“I’ve lost control over everything,” Carol says, turning to Jim. Anxiety radiates from her body as she makes her confession. Then she disappears before he has a chance to answer.

Blinking, Jim stares at the empty air where she once stood. He tries to reason with himself, thinking that dreams are always strange like this until the pressure of a cool hand upon his shoulder startles him. Carol stands behind him, her touch as delicate as a feather.

“Even the places in my head,” she whispers. With a sad smile, she leans forward to press her mouth close to his ear. “Find it. You know where it is, petal.”

He jerks awake, nostrils stinging from a sudden deep breath. His entire body goes stiff with fear and confusion as the inability to remember where he is causes his heart to pound wildly.

“Easy darlin’,” Leonard drawls, his sleepy voice cutting through the darkness. Warm fingers trace a path up the knobs of his spine and come to rest at the back of his neck, soothing Jim’s panic. Leonard’s thumb worries his skin as he stretches to turn on a lamp.

Light brings the living room into focus; from the bookshelf with the two glasses of water set aside to the rumpled pile of clothing leading to the couch. They’ve been on the couch for hours as Jim looks at the digital clock on the DVD player. Jim silently marvels at how he has been in Leonard’s arms the entire time. To hold or be held; it’s something he hasn’t been able to do since the demise of his marriage.

And yet he’s doing it now with a man he hardly knows.

“Bad dream?” his lover questions.

He shrugs, unable to say whether it was or not. “Forgot where I was,” Jim sheepishly admits, lifting his head to look at Leonard. “Sorry to wake you.”

Leonard offers him a grin as he brushes Jim’s hair off his forehead. “It’s okay. Besides, the bed is more comfortable.” His fingers move to a path of goosebumps forming on his shoulder. “And warmer.”

“Is that an invitation, Bones?” Jim teases, waggling his brows.

“Just an observation,” Leonard replies to which Jim raises a questioning brow. He leans in and brings their lips together. It’s unhurried and lazy, though no less enticing than the foreplay preceding it. “This,” his lover says, when they’ve pulled apart and he’s pressing a series of kisses along Jim’s jaw, “is an invitation.”

Jim chuckles as he leans into Leonard’s mouth. “Well then,” he whispers before taking the other man’s hand and following him to the bedroom. “I accept.”

 

* * *

 

He goes to Buena Vista Park several days later.

It’s a gloomy Friday morning with drizzle falling from the overcast sky when Jim steps foot inside of the park, heading towards the West side he recalls from his dream. During the course of his trek, he hardly sees anyone else save for a few mothers pushing strollers and maybe a runner or two.

Shoving his hands into the pockets his jacket, Jim curses himself for following such an unreliable hunch. _This is crazy,_ he thinks despite all evidence to the contrary. His feet carry him through the paved trails underneath towering Cypress trees until he veers onto the grass.

Jim closes his eyes, calling upon the details he remembers from his unconscious encounter with Carol and goes. The location she showed him is as nondescript as it had been in his dream: dirt and grass seeking cover under a tree. Nearby is a line of repurposed headstones; some legible, others not.

Pushing away low hanging branches as he walks into the tree’s folds, a sense of familiarity overcomes Jim. It sinks into him, leaving dizzying confusion in its wake. He couldn’t say if he’s been here before or someplace like it, but something about this place leaves him with a sense of deja vu.

Jim goes to the foot of the tree’s roots and squats, running his hand several inches above the soil. With a quick glance to see if anyone is watching, he begins to dig. Heart pounding and mind reeling, he claws at the ground until his fingers come in contact with plastic.

He jumps back as if he’s been shocked, wiping his dirty hands on his thighs as he peers into the hole. Underneath soil, roots, and leaves, the edge of a plastic bag sticks out, beckoning for Jim or someone to reveal its contents. He continues digging until more of the object is revealed to him. The translucent material of the container is caked with dirt, obscuring the contents from view.

With shaking hands, Jim tugs on the edges and frees it from its confines. He hugs the object to his chest as he stands up and hastily kicks dirt into the hole until it’s nothing more than an uneven patch of soil. Such an ordinary thing that no one would bother with a second look.

He flees, stripping the plastic bag from what turns out to be a diary and stashing it in a trash can on his way out of the park. Jim keeps moving until he’s secluded in his bedroom, panting and trembling as he slides to the floor. He’s never been one to believe in psychic phenomena—just sheer coincidence—but holding the diary in his hands, Jim begins to question his beliefs.

How could Carol have possibly reached out to him, parting the veil of twilight to lead Jim to the place she buried her secrets? None of it makes sense; he’s never seen her beyond the moments he passed her house on the train and now in the news.

It doesn’t matter now. Taking a deep breath, he opens the diary to find elegant handwriting on the first page.

 _I am not normal;_ the author declares in blue ink. _If anyone who knew me—my parents, my husband, my friends and even acquaintances—saw this statement, they would laugh and say, “Oh Carol, you always had an overactive imagination.” Perhaps I do. A teacher once told me I was the mystery of self-reinvention. It’s like having a secret, and nobody but me knows I’m doing it._

 

* * *

 

Reading Carol Marcus-Mitchell’s diary is like stripping a wall bare.

For all Jim fantasized about her life, he finds that the woman he made her to be is only fantasy. An all-too-perfect person who never existed beyond the few seconds he saw her from the train.

During the first day he has her diary in his possession, Jim shelves the diary on his bookcase. Hidden in plain sight, the thing is easy to overlook with its simple cover and spine. He checks on it every evening to make sure it’s still there—he knows it’s a bit obsessive, but chances cannot be taken.

Carol would understand, he muses. She hid her thoughts in the same manner, between lines of to-dos and grocery lists. _So I can smile at my husband when he asks what I’m writing and say ‘oh nothing’ like I’m a perfect angel,_ she explains. _There’s nothing so painful, so corrosive, as suspicion. Even if it’s my own doing, I don’t want it chipping away at this June Cleaver facade I’ve created._

When Jim has time, he begins to dissect this woman who, up until recently, has only been a figment of his wild imagination. There is something gratifying about safeguarding Carol’s deepest thoughts while everyone else is scrambling to find her; it’s their secret and only they know they’re a part of it.

The person he created was entrancing, charming, and above all, perfect. The real Carol is vastly different. She’s troubled, suffocated, and calculating.

 _I am not a model wife;_ she has written upon the ruled pages. _I can’t be. No matter how much I love Gary, it won’t be enough. For who, you ask? For me. This is my life and if I have learnt anything, this existence is too short. Too short to play the perfect wife, the perfect daughter, the perfect everything. I am far from perfect. I have deceived everyone._

 _I don’t understand how anyone does it—there is literally nothing to do but wait. Wait for a man to come home and love you,_ Carol notes. _Either that or look around for something to distract you. I used to be more than a housewife. I had a career before Gary, things to distract me. I can section my life into two parts: Before Gary and After Gary._

_Before Gary, I did things for myself. I ran free and enjoyed life. I was wild and carefree. Most importantly, I controlled myself. I spread my legs for any man who caught my eye and took pleasure in being the desirable woman. The woman who left before morning and gave you a fake number._

The woman he saw from the train hid her secret desires well with a dutiful smile. It’s a mask, as it turns out—just another way to get through the life she made for herself. A life that Carol has come to loathe.

 _After Gary…let’s just say that everything I do isn’t for my comfort, but his. I’ve decided to change that. I want something that I control; that’s solely mine. And yet, not really,_ she writes one day. _Living in a neighborhood such as ours, you get to know everyone. They become a part of your daily life, drifting in and out like dancers in the background. There’s one couple we socialize with quite often—a husband and wife so beautiful and impeccable that I find myself searching for fault lines. Surely no one could be like them, so shiny and lovely._

_Everyone has their secrets, it’s just a matter of finding them._

 

* * *

 

“You like that, darlin’?” Leonard drawls one evening.

It’s one of his days off and Jim has invited him over to spend the night while his roommate is over at his boyfriend’s. They have the entire apartment to themselves which brings the freedom to be loud and take things outside of the bedroom. This knowledge of which leads to an intense make-out session against the front door and is followed by an even more intense fuck.

As they continue to date, they become more comfortable with pushing boundaries during sex. While Leonard enjoys slow and gentle, it’s when he can be rougher with Jim he likes the best. Knowing that the other man gets off on it as well has Leonard taking full advantage of this.

His arousal heightens when he hears Jim’s whine as his fingernails dig into his wrists, holding them against the wall. To pin them above his lover’s head while two of his own fingers are shoved up Jim’s sensitive hole is a big turn on. Every reaction Leonard gets from him is a new discovery.

“You want it so bad,” Leonard snarls, running his teeth over the back of Jim’s neck as his fingers press against the spongy texture of his lover’s prostate. He chuckles when Jim cries out, cock weeping precum and his body wanting more. “Don’t even want to wait until I’ve gotten you wet and ready, just want me as soon as possible.”

Jim moans, nodding his head feverishly. Leonard never asks him to beg for it, even though he does anyway. The words come easily—the pleases and the promises of being good—from pouty lips, swollen from kisses.

Soon Leonard is thrusting inside of him like Jim is charging by the minute, taking him from behind while sucking love bites across Jim’s shoulders. “You feel so good, darlin’,” Leonard rasps. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Jim’s fingers tug his hair, pulling at his scalp as his mouth sits hotly on his neck. “Harder,” he tells him. “Do it harder. Want to feel you into next week, Bones.”

Somehow they pause the proceedings long enough for Jim to wrap his legs around Leonard’s waist and bring their mouths together before the detective is back inside of his lover. He gives Jim what he asked for, pounding into his tight hole until they’re both sated and stumbling towards the bedroom.

It’s there Leonard finds several missed calls from Jaylah. As he and Jim rest on the bed, allowing their skin to cool, he calls her back. “You rang,” he says when she picks up.

“Sorry for cockblocking you, boss,” Jaylah chirps through the speaker, earning a snort from Jim, “wanted to remind you that we have another round of interviews for the Marcus-Mitchell case.”

Leonard feels the weight of Jim’s head against his shoulder and automatically lifts his arm to accommodate his body. “Believe it or not, Jay, I am capable of remembering these things.”

“Even with your hot boyfriend around?” she teases.

As the words are said, Leonard feels the flicker of panic stirring in his chest. While they have no problem with communication, neither he nor Jim have yet to bring up exclusivity. He enjoys the other man’s company and looks forward to spending time with him. They have amazing sex and waking up to see Jim lying in bed next to him is quickly becoming one of Leonard’s favorite things. It’s obvious that neither of them are seeing or sleeping with other people, but given Jim’s previous relationship and its painful demise, Leonard figured it would be best to allow Jim to bring it up.

He knows his career has made past relationships difficult. His schedule is far from ideal and as far as his day goes, he isn’t allowed to talk about it. There are times where he receives a phone call in the middle of the night or cancels plans because he needs to go to a crime scene. His partners are understanding, at first, and completely mesmerized by his profession.

The risk, the danger, the intrigue and, hell, even his _badge_ is alluring.

But then the reality of Leonard being a detective sets in. They realize that he keeps strange hours and sees things no one should ever see. He understands when the relationship ends after a few short months; he’s married to his work and simply can’t give them what they need.

Then there’s Jim, who is far more accepting and goes out of his way to find time for them. Sometimes it’s at two in the morning and they are sitting in a funky smelling coffee shop near the Castro or when he brings Leonard lunch and a kiss to his temple before leaving. Even with that brief pause in Leonard’s chaotic life—where he gets to see Jim’s bright smile—doesn’t banish the nagging suspicion that one day Jim will, too, tire of him.

“You’re probably over there right now, huh? Are you even _wearing_ clothes?” Jaylah continues at light speed.

Jim leans over the phone. “Hi Jay,” he says. “Aside from harassing _my boyfriend_ , how are you this evening?”

“Question is, how are _you_?” she asks, much to Leonard’s chagrin. He can even picture the mischievous smirk on her face.

Groaning, Leonard takes the device off speaker and presses it to his ear. “You’re a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen!” he barks into the phone, earning both Jim and Jaylah’s amusement. “We’re going now. See you tomorrow.”

Before Jaylah can embarrass him further, Leonard ends the call. He tosses the phone onto a pile of their clothes, huffing in annoyance. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes.

“About your partner’s lack of personal boundaries,” Jim inquires as he pulls Leonard to him, “or being called my boyfriend?”

He chuckles. “My partner,” he says as he hooks a leg over Jim’s waist. They lie on their sides in a tangle of limbs, allowing Leonard to run his fingers over his lover’s flushed cheeks.

“Good,” Jim replies as he brushes Leonard’s hair off his face. “I could get used to calling you my boyfriend.”

Leonard nods in agreement. “It has a certain ring to it.” He tilts his lover’s chin, leaniinto to pressing their mouths together. “I think I’m going to enjoy this,” Leonard whispers before deepening the kiss.

There are a lot of things he enjoys thinking about when it comes to Jim.

Including finding himself with Jim’s legs hooked over his shoulders while his boyfriend’s hands dig into his back. They move against each other, slower than before, and Leonard realizes how lucky he is to have this.

To have the satisfaction of being desired and wanted reciprocated; to have someone like Jim brighten his life.

Just to have Jim at all.

 

* * *

 

 _Maintaining appearances is an art form,_ Carol states in her diary.

The couple Carol mentions in previous muses are none other than Spock and Nyota, which at first gives Jim some perverse delight. _I don’t think I’ve ever disliked someone as much as the doctor’s wife,_ she writes. _While she appears to be the image of having it all, I can see her facade crumble. Beneath her smooth skin is a woman whose heart is so cold that I wonder if she feels anything at all. I try to picture the doctor making love to her and only imagine her motionless with dead eyes._

He laughs out loud upon reading the passage. Any horrible thing that has been and could be said about Nyota is music to his ears. To find out that Carol also feels the same way, Jim feels like they’ve bonded somehow.

Looking back at their friendship, Jim wonders how he missed the signs that Nyota would end up betraying him in such a brutal way. She was the first person he called, even though she couldn’t understand him through his hysterics. Jim couldn’t have gotten through his family’s funeral if Nyota hadn’t been there to hold him upright and gently guide him through the motions of grief.

She had been there through so much, and yet had no problem with having an affair with his husband.

The image of her and Spock making eyes at each other from across the room while Jim stood there, blissfully unaware, makes his stomach knot.

How could Nyota do that to him? To _them_?

While he is learning to move on, Jim is certain Nyota and Spock’s memory will still make his heart ache, though its sting will lessen over time.

For now he amuses himself with Carol’s scathing observations of them until one day he finds himself tangled inside of her narrative.

_The doctor’s wife invited me out for a run this afternoon. Seeing how I had nothing better to do, I obliged out of curiosity more than wanting to be friends with her. I think we looked utterly ridiculous in our Lululemons as we stretched near our homes and took off running. Like two housewives with our giant diamond rings pretending to be busy while our husbands are at work. It disgusted me as time passed, though no more than the conversation Nyota kept flowing. Under that regalness is inferiority - like she’s expecting everything she’s made for herself to come crashing down._

_It does in the least expected way and it makes me loathe her all the more,_ Carol explains. _I accepted a post-run lunch with Nyota while we were walking back to our street. It’s only polite and honestly, I didn’t feel like cooking up something for myself. As we turned the corner, gossiping about the latest celebrity break-up, a storm settled upon Nyota’s face. Her expression, once happy, swiftly darkened and tightened her features as she charged ahead of me and shouted, “What the fuck are you doing here?”_

_At first, I was confused and rushed after her to find Nyota engaging in a screaming match with a wounded little bird of a man. Admittedly, she was doing most of the carrying on while the man recoiled into himself. As I drew closer, I smelled alcohol radiating off of him and saw the saddest pair of eyes I’ve ever encountered._

_“Jim, what did we tell you?” she yells, giving him a shove. Perhaps it’s his drunkenness…_

Seeing his name written in Carol’s neat handwriting causes his stomach to roil. He drops the diary on his bed, as if it’s stung him somehow, and backs away until his body is pressed against the wall. Trembling, Jim forces himself to breathe. _In and out_ , he says to himself. _In and out._

Repetition, a thing repeated. He’s never been one for it until he became sober. It’s one of the lessons both Elizabeth and Scotty have taught him; building upon a positive action and doing it over and over until it becomes second nature.

“Take runnin’, for example,” he recalls Scotty explaining to him. They had been running on the Kelvin Center’s grounds until Jim, being terribly out of shape, needed a rest. So they sat on a bench overlooking the sprawling lawn. “If you keep doin’ this, laddie, your body will grow stronger.”

“And I’ll be kicking your ass?” Jim had teased, earning a chuckle from his sponsor.

Scotty shrugged, if he remembers correctly. “Doubt it, but you will learn there are other ways to feed your soul. If you feel anxious, sad, or angry, go for a run.”

“Instead of drinking,” he said quietly.

The Scotsman slapped his back in reply. “Atta boy!” Scotty had told him gleefully. “You’re learnin’ mighty quick!”

He continues breathing until Jim feels he can move. Palming his face with both hands, he stares at the diary through the cracks of his fingers and wonders if someone is screwing with him. Certainly there are many things that may have happened while he was blacked out, but meeting Carol? There’s no way it’s possible.

Unless he’s somehow connected to her disappearance.

Against his better judgement, Jim grabs the diary and flips to the last page he read.

_Perhaps it’s his drunkenness or the surprise of being caught, but the man crashes to the ground. I watch from several paces away as Nyota stands over him, shouting that her home is no longer his and he needs to go. “Before I call the cops!”_

_It’s then I notice he’s cut his chin, blood dribbling down the front of his shirt where it’s not stuck to his skin. I have no idea what came over me, but I ran to his assistance,_ Carol explains. _A man I don’t even know and I rushed to his side like a knight in shining armor. Funny for me to even think it now as there’s no such thing as fairy tales._

_“Carol,” Nyota called, all haughtily like his mere presence will lower the value of her home._

_I touch his face, taking great care not to startle him or aggravate his injury. His eyes are two miserable holes in his skull, exuding all his pain and suffering from sapphire irises. I have never seen anything like this little bird’s eyes. So blue and so sad._

_He might have been truly beautiful once, long before his addiction took hold._

_“Leave him,” Nyota orders me. When I turn, she’s glaring at him. “He’s drunk.”_

_“He’s hurt,” I counter. I look back at him and smile what I hope he deems is a friendly smile. I’m certain it’s been ages since he’s seen one of those, especially with a banshee like Nyota shouting at him._

_She’s stopped now, as evident by her front door slamming shut. In that moment, I decide that I intensely dislike Dr. Nyota Uhura. I notice this man sniffling; his eyes bright from tears not drink. Like seeing Nyota standing there is causing him pain. “Why don’t you come inside?” I offer. “So we can clean these up.”_

 

* * *

 

Memory slams into Jim as the rest of the story unfolds in front of his very eyes.

Like dropping paint into water, the inside of Carol’s home appears—the way it looked, the way it smelled, the way light seemed to bathe everything in their path.

She has an arm around his waist, keeping Jim steady during their trek to the bathroom where she deposits him on the toilet. Carol grabs a hand towel, which she runs under the sink and wrings it out before applying it to his overly warm face. “There,” she whispers, patting at his skin as she dabs away his tears. “That must feel better, doesn’t it?”

He nods, despite more tears falling down his cheeks. It’s been ages since someone has shown him such affection and he’s missed it. The gentleness of someone caring about his wellbeing makes Jim comes to realize how much he missed it and that it makes his chest burn with sadness. It’s the alcohol that lowers his inhibitions as he presses his forehead into Carol’s stomach, where he sobs.

She should be kicking him out, he thinks. Anyone else would have, but instead this woman he’s only seen from a distance wraps her arms around him and keeps him anchored. Carol’s fingers card through his hair as she whispers soothingly into his ear.

Later, once he’s sobered up, Jim finds himself sitting in her kitchen with a glass of water cupped between his hands. He wears her husband’s t-shirt and sweatpants while Carol launders his own in the basement.

“She must have done a number on you,” Carol says over the sounds of her cooking. She’s taken it upon herself to treat Jim like her guest, offering him first aid and food. Their eyes meet across the kitchen. “Nyota, I mean.”

Jim goes to nod, but stops himself before shaking his head. “Not her,” he finally replies, his voice gravelly to his own ears.

“Oh,” Carol whispers, putting the pieces together. She turns back to the stove where she’s scrambling him some eggs and goes about putting them on a plate. She sets them down in front of him and sighs as her fingers pet his still damp hair. “He never deserved you, petal. Neither of them did.”

 

* * *

 

He comes out of the flashback gasping for air and feeling sick to his stomach.

Jim curls into himself, willing the latter to pass. It claws at his throat, threatening to fight him for release as saliva pools in his mouth. He chokes it down, swallowing at the bitter taste it leaves behind. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jim feels something unlock inside of his head, causing the center of his forehead to ache.

He doesn’t have a psychology degree or any familiarity with the subject outside of his therapy sessions with Elizabeth, but he’s heard of repressed memories. Both his doctor and Scotty warned him of their possible reappearance and now it’s happening.

They’re bubbling to the surface having been kept at bay for so long. It leaves Jim with the haunting realization that he _knew_ Carol. He’s never been more certain of anything in his entire life. She wasn’t just a fantasy, but a real entity in his life. He feels the essence of her flaws and attributes, shattering what Jim has built Carol up to be.

The taste of disappointment and revulsion sink into his bones—that terrible aftermath of an event whose origin Jim doesn’t know… _yet_.

As he shakes and trembles, Jim begins to fear what he’s unlocked.

 

* * *

 

Leonard is woken up by the sensation of being alone in bed.

He rubs at his eyes, confused by this because he remembers Jim being next to him when they finally drifted off together. He remembers smiling as his boyfriend curled into his side and wrapped an arm around his waist, sighing happily as they lie in the dark. It is such a minute thing to most—to have that close physical proximity. Many people don’t think twice about it, but for Leonard, he realizes the implications. The level of comfort Jim feels around him and the trust he has in the detective.

It’s a bright spot in the maelstrom of a rough week for both of them.

Carol Marcus-Mitchell’s body had been discovered at Land’s End by a group of teenagers who had gone out there to do whatever teenagers do. They had been hoping for a place to have some fun, but instead found a dead woman in a shallow grave. The grisly discovery ended the search for a missing person and launched a murder investigation in its wake.

Leonard knew from the moment he laid eyes on Carol’s face that she was dead long before her husband knew she was missing. Her features, even with the amount of decomposition and dirt left covering her, were still recognizable and knotted at the detective’s stomach.

Death pales everyone in the end. Skin transforms to an unsettling hue, lips and extremities blackening at the corners, and eyes become clouded over. It’s the physical mark of showing that the soul which once inhabited a corpse is gone and never to return.

He pitied her for the way Carol was discarded, wrapped in plastic and hastily buried. Her cause of death was easy to determine thanks to the jagged flaps of skin that made her carotid artery visible to those gathered around the scene. Killed within minutes and so violently.

She never stood a chance at a safe return, and now it was his job to find out who killed her. Leonard’s been spending his days and nights re-interviewing potential witnesses and re-examining evidence. The process is draining, but a part of his job sometimes.

He thinks back to when he told Jim and was surprised to see his boyfriend taking the news unexpectedly hard. Watching as tears pooled at the other man’s waterline before spilling over felt like a dagger to Leonard’s heart. Jim went to his embrace and they stood in silence until both of them were ready to let go.

“I could have ended up like her,” Jim told him later. “If I kept drinking…”

He kissed his boyfriend’s temple and shook his head. “Don’t think like that, darlin’,” Leonard whispered. “It could have happened to anyone.”

Of nearly nine hundred thousand people who reside in San Francisco proper and Carol Marcus-Mitchell got dealt a shitty deck.

Leonard perks up at the sound of retching coming from the bathroom. He is out of bed and rushing down the hallway where he opens the door to find Jim kneeling in front of the toilet. “Dammit, Jim,” the detective intones sympathetically.

“M’fine,” Jim insists, despite vomiting two seconds later. He lifts his eyes from the toilet bowl to reveal the pale, clammy hue his complexion has taken.

“I am going to disagree with that, darlin’,” Leonard counters as he runs a hand towel under the sink. Wringing it out, he folds it into a square and goes to sit behind his boyfriend. He presses the damp fabric to Jim’s nape as the toilet flushes, frowning at the heat radiating from the other man’s skin.

They sit in silence and wait for Jim’s stomach to cease its revolt. Leonard scoots closer to give the other man something to lean into and rubs circles along his shoulders, hoping that it will ease the sore muscles. Jim sighs as he drops his head onto the toilet seat, his body slowly relaxing under Leonard’s touch.

“Had a bad dream,” he mumbles after a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Leonard asks, noting that it’s the third one this week.

Something about Carol Marcus-Mitchell’s death has brought every one of Jim’s fears to the forefront of his mind. During the day he’s fine but once he’s sleeping, the darkest recesses of his imagination or memories come for him.

“I can’t stop it,” Jim whimpers. His shoulders slump forward in misery and shake as he cries. Sniffling, he buries his face into his arms. “Every time I close my eyes, I wake up wanting to scream. Every single time and none of it makes sense! It’s like watching a movie out of order, but the parts where something bad happens are clear. I see Spock and Nyota…” Jim pauses, unable to continue.

Leonard nods and bestows a kiss to the edge of Jim’s hairline. He knows this story: how his boyfriend walked in on Spock and Nyota in bed together. In the bed he shared with his now ex-husband. In one painful instant, Jim lost both his partner and his best friend; it’s no wonder he went down the path he did.

“I see things that I know happened, even though they used to be stories,” his boyfriend continues. “Lost bits of time that people would tell me about when I sobered up.” He goes to wipe his cheek with a shaking hand. “Even things I never knew about…they…”

He squeezes Jim’s shoulder. “You can’t change the past,” Leonard tells him. “You can learn from it and strive not to repeat it. Besides, you can’t get back on the horse if you’re still drunk.”

“Bones,” Jim groans in annoyance and turns to glare at him. “Enough with the metaphors, all right? It’s too early in the morning.”

Leonard chuckles as he gingerly wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s middle. “You like my metaphors,” he teases despite Jim’s huffing. “Can’t get enough of them, huh, darlin’?”

“You’re the worst,” the younger man tells him, even as he curls into Leonard’s chest.

He eventually coaxes a tired laugh from Jim once they are back in bed. It spreads from the warm gust of breath on his chest and melts into the fabric of his t-shirt where it finds Leonard’s heart buried under layers of skin, tissue, and muscle.

As they drift off together, he thinks to himself that he could fall in love with Jim and wonders if he already has.

 

* * *

 

 _I helped him home once his clothes were dry and he had some food in his stomach,_ the page from Carol’s diary says.

_Most would probably think I was insane—Nyota certainly does, I’m sure—to take care of him as if he was a lost puppy. He is in a way, always wandering and searching for the missing pieces in his life. I’ve never seen such heartbreak in a single human being and it shows in every iota of Jim’s manner. It’s impossible to resist the kindness of strangers. Someone who looks at you, who doesn’t know you, who tells you it’s okay, whatever you’ve done: you suffered, you hurt, you deserve forgiveness. He laps it up like one of those abused dogs looking for a hand out._

_It’s the least I could do, I suppose, and besides, there’s something comforting about the sight of strangers safe at home._

Jim swallows, feeling uncomfortable at seeing a description of himself at his very worst. He knows the memory of it will come back to him, either in seconds or later when he least expects it, and he will relive those lost moments.

When it’s over, mental exhaustion and physical illness leave Jim with the sensation of drowning. The crippling effects can last for hours, unless Leonard is there. Under his boyfriend’s assurance, he finds a way back to himself and is able to breathe again.

He wants to tell Leonard about his connection to Carol, for whatever good it may do for the investigation. And yet, Jim is frightened about the role he might have played in her death.

So he continues to read a dead woman’s innermost secrets because if Jim has learned anything, he’s a glutton for punishment.

 _I begin to wonder about her husband,_ Carol muses several pages later. _A man who I’ve seldom talked to as he usually busies himself with Gary and leaves us wives to talk. Spock isn’t what I’d describe as classically handsome, but he’s certainly not displeasing to look at. He’s the embodiment of chiaroscuro_ — _pale skin, dense black hair._

_He and Nyota making a striking pair, that is certain, though I wonder what he and Jim, the little bird I helped, looked like. Perhaps Diana and Apollo? They undoubtedly made a beautiful couple once, though those days are long gone. He told me in so many words that he used to be friends with Nyota—best friends, in fact—and she seduced Spock away from him._

_It’s strange to imagine his wife living with the knowledge that her husband’s heart used to belong to someone else. Someone who is far more likeable drunk than she is sober. Perhaps it’s why I’ve decided to see if the doctor’s attention will stray from his wife. After all, I have to find a way of making myself happy, even if it means looking elsewhere. It’s terrible and it’s true. I know it is, but I think in the moment all caution will fly out my body and I’ll just think, fuck it, life’s too short._

_I imagine it will be easy. I’ll go over when neither of our spouses are at home and make small talk. Get a feel for it. If he’s receptive, I’ll put the idea in his head with a flirtatious comment and a smile. Everyone has always commented on my smile._

_And then I’ll leave. Let his desire simmer and boil over._

The next pages are filled with unfinished drawings of people whose features fade once Carol lost interest. He doesn’t know any of them, though the way her creations are discarded leave him feeling deeply disturbed. Jim realizes how careless she used to be, as if the world was set for her enjoyment.

Revulsion makes his skin pimple under his clothes, and Jim shivers. He finds the next written entry, dated a week and a half later.

_He follows me and I take off my clothes as I’m going up the stairs. When we get there, when he pushes me down on the bed, I’m not even thinking about him. It doesn’t matter because Spock doesn’t know that. I’m good enough to make him believe that it’s all about him. When his head’s buried between my legs, tonguing my pussy while I pull at his hair, it’s about me. When I ride his cock, the saying still goes. My pleasure, my secret, my control._

_Being the other woman is a turn-on,_ Carol reveals. Jim imagines her after Spock has left, returning to his house with a smirk on his face. She’s probably sitting on her bed only wearing her underwear while her blonde hair is in disarray. She’s smiling to herself when she thinks of the stickiness between her thighs, the only evidence of her and Spock’s wrongdoing. _There’s no point denying it: you’re the one he can’t help but betray his wife for, even though he loves her. That’s how irresistible you are._

Jim sets the diary down, unable to shake away the bitterness of outrage and disappointment. It tastes of stale cigarettes and the sweetness of blood—of all the things horrible in the world. The image he has of Carol is now tarnishing like rust on metal, eating and eroding away at her perfect facade until everyone can see that she’s just as despicable as the rest of them.

 

* * *

 

“This is my favorite place in this city,” Carol tells him.

They’re walking in Buena Vista Park, having run into each other on Stanyan where she found him wandering aimlessly. Jim is a bit more sober this time, only because Carol thwarted his plans for the day. He can’t really be angry at her, especially when she smiled and beckoned him to join her for a stroll as she called it.

“When they relocated the cemeteries, some of the headstones were repurposed as rain gutters. Come look.” Carol squats down and points to a tier along the pathway they’re walking. Beneath dirt and debris lies a barely visible headstone in its reincarnation. “I know most people will say something more well known,” she continues as she stands up. “The Palace of Fine Arts, Dolores Park, Sutro Baths…”

“Land’s End,” Jim offers, quietly.

Carol glances at him, seemingly pleased with his suggestion. Another smile appears on her pink lips and she giggles, the sound like a silver bell. “That too! It’s so cold there; I can never stay for long when my husband and I go. Do you go there often?”

Jim shakes his head and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Not anymore.”

“Ah. Did The she-bitch and her husband commandeer that as well?” Carol asks, giving him a nudge. She moves closer to him until their shoulders touch while they walk. “It must be difficult to disentangle from people you have a history with. Their memory won’t let you go and as hard as you might try, you can’t set yourself free.”

He snorts at this. “Maybe I’ve already stopped trying.”

“By drinking?” Carol questions. “It won’t fix your hurt, petal. Perhaps numb it for a while. If it doesn’t kill you first.”

“Maybe that’s what I want,” Jim tells her, sounding more bitter than he’s ever felt. He stares at Carol in defiance, silently goading her to talk him out of it.

Instead she surprises him by stating, “I don’t think it is.”

The surety of her words and its spark in her eyes, it leaves Jim stunned. He stops walking in order to stare at Carol, just to see what her true motives are. If he’s learned anything about the circumstances that brought him to this point—standing in a park with a woman he’s only seen from a distance—it’s no one can be trusted to tell him the truth.

Spock, who promised him the world, and Nyota, who swore to be by his side; two people he loved more than anything and they stabbed him in the back. Just thinking about it makes his rage boil to the surface.

“You don’t know me,” Jim hisses at her. “Just because you helped me once doesn’t mean shit. You have no idea what I’ve been through!”

Carol stands her ground and doesn’t even flinch at his yelling. “I’ve seen people like you, you know. People who’ve been chewed up and spat out by the world. People who slowly kill themselves because they want something to numb the pain.” She steps into Jim’s sphere, sending him back several footsteps. “Your pain is so great that not even drinking helps it.”

“Fuck you,” Jim snaps before turning around to walk away.

“Look, so your husband leaves you for your best friend,” Carol calls after him. He stops walking, an action motivated by curiosity. “You can settle for a sad, miserable existence, or you can get sober and have the life you were meant for.”

He turns around, frowning. “What I was meant for? And what would that be?”

“That’s entirely up to you, petal,” she says. Carol goes to him, passing by as she taps Jim’s shoulder. “I’m just here to listen.”

He stares at her, noting how the park goes oddly quiet. Like someone has taken an invisible plug and pulled it, taking all the sounds with it.

“Jim?” Carol asks, her voice deepening and developing a drawl in place of her English lilt. “Are you alright, darlin’?” Her hand touches his cheek, cupping it with her palm. “Jim?”

He blinks and jumps back, startled to find Leonard standing in her place. It hits him suddenly; the awareness of having a flashback in a public place. Jim draws in a deep breath, even as he sways on his feet, and feels his boyfriend’s hand grabbing his elbow to steady him.

“Hey,” Leonard says, his voice laced with concern. “Eyes on me, darlin’. That’s it. Keep breathing, in and out.”

Jim lets himself be escorted to a bench, where he sits down and remembers he’s not in the park. Hell, he’s not even in the city; he and Leonard are walking down Main Street in Half Moon Bay after having dinner with his aunt and uncle. It’s the first time in years that he’s introduced someone as his boyfriend and the meal went better than Jim anticipated.

He had been nervous about Chris and Leonard meeting again since their first introduction was, well, awkward for lack of a better word. The second meeting was more successful, especially with Majel being there to smooth over any remaining tension.

Sucking in the sea-tinged air, more memories filter in and settle where there are gaps while Jim tries not to make a spectacle of himself. The comforting press of Leonard’s hand on his back as he rubs it in slow circles eases the aftershocks, tamping them down to tolerable levels.

He wonders how long Leonard will stick around for the train wreck that is his life. Spock certainly didn’t and they had been together for almost a decade.

“I’m sorry,” Jim manages to say after a while. A bubble of emotion presses at his throat, threatening to spill forth.

Leonard’s hand pauses in its movements and he scoots closer, bridging the space between them until the warmth of his body is radiating against Jim’s. “For what?”

 _Lying to you,_ he thinks. _For hiding vital information from you._ “For being a mess,” Jim replies as tears sting his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

“I’m going to fill you in on a little secret, darlin’: I _want_ to be here for you,” Leonard tells him. He gently touches the other man’s chin and turns his head until they are looking at each other.

Jim sees the earnest gleam in his boyfriend’s eyes. “You’re a masochist, Bones.”

“Been called worse,” the other man says. He grins at him and brings their mouths closer together. “C’mere,” Leonard beckons, all husky and sweet.

In the moments theirs lips brush against each other, he hears his uncle’s groan followed by him grousing, “Get a room, you two!”

Jim and Leonard pull away to find Chris rolling his eyes while Majel hides her giggle against her husband’s shoulder. Scowling at his aunt and uncle, Jim shakes his head. “Thanks, Chris,” he grumbles as he laces his fingers together with his now-blushing boyfriend. “You’re a pal.”

“Did I interrupt?” Chris asks innocently, to which Majel smacks him on the arm.

She shakes her head at him before addressing Leonard. “Ignore him,” she tells him as she flicks her husband’s cheek. “That’s what I do most of the time.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Leonard says, giving Jim’s fingers a gentle squeeze. The gesture causes Jim to turn, where he finds his boyfriend staring at him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

* * *

 

Leonard finds Jaylah already in his office when he comes into work.

She’s pacing in front of his desk with a folder in hand and a perturbed look on her face. “Finally!” his partner exclaims, her shoulders slumping in relief. “The coroner’s report just came in and we have a problem.”

“It’s too early for this,” Leonard tells her as he removes his jacket and throws it on the back of his chair. He leans against his desk and holds out his hand for the folder. Jaylah gives it to him and goes back to pacing.

He skims through the report and doesn’t find anything particularly surprising until two pages in. The words he reads are enough to make his jaw drop, unable to emit a curse or sound of dismay. Leonard glances up at Jaylah, who nods in affirmation before he goes back to the document. “Pregnant?” he finally manages to say before setting the file down. “Well…shit.”

“Phil estimates that she was about two months along,” Jaylah adds, taking the folder away from him to leaf through it. “Definitely in the first trimester. Her husband and family weren’t aware she was pregnant until Phil notified them of his findings.”

Leonard nods in agreement. “Otherwise they would have said something.”

“Hell, she might not have even known,” his partner suggests. She presses her mouth into a thin line. “This is becoming a shit show, Len.”

He palms his face, trying to wipe away the shock when a thought hits him. “Wasn’t she and her husband friendly with Dr. S’chn T’gai and Dr. Uhura?”

“According to Dr. Uhura’s interview, yes.” Jaylah raises a brow as she pieces together her partner’s thought process. “You think she might have mentioned something.”

“It’s possible,” Leonard tells her. He doesn’t say that he suspects that Spock knew Carol better than he let on, given the way he reacted during their last meeting. He’s itching to get Dr. S’chn T’gai into another interview, just to see what will happen.

Now he has possible ammunition against him. Even before he and Jim started dating, Leonard wanted to go toe-to-toe with Spock again just to see him squirm. “I think we should get them in here,” he suggests.

“Nuh-uh,” Jaylah fires back, slapping the folder against his chest. “I will get them in here. You will stay on the other side of the glass, boss!”

His expression drops as he scrambles to grab the folder. “Wait, what?” Leonard watches Jaylah leave his office and decides to go after her. His partner’s destination is the coffee machine in the break room. “Why can’t I be there?”

“Is this a trick question?” Jaylah asks as she pours cream into her mug. She sees that Leonard is serious and rolls her eyes. “Because _you’re_ dating his _ex-husband_ , that’s why!”

“Oh,” Leonard says dumbly.

Jaylah groans. “You’re hopeless,” she snaps at him as she leaves the room with Leonard on her heels. They head towards the interview rooms. “Seriously, how are you even my boss? Anyways, I already called their attorney and they’re probably on their way into the building.”

“How did you manage to pull that off?” he asks as he follows her.

She scoffs. “Like I’m going to tell _you_ ,” Jaylah says through her teeth.

Twenty minutes later, Leonard finds himself staring at Spock and Nyota through the two-way mirror. Balthazar sits at the table behind him, sipping on his coffee while he leafs through a folder. It’s just as well that he doesn’t speak to Leonard, as he’s too focused on the couple in front of him.

So impeccable looking and yet so flawed. He wonders if their friends know of how they came together—through lies and the pain of a single shattered heart—and decides they wouldn’t risk it. Spock and Nyota seem like the type of people who take pride in their reputation; any smudge will probably send them into a tailspin.

Infidelity, no matter how it ends, is never considered romantic. People will silently wonder how long it will be until the other strays; it’s something on everyone’s mind even if they never say so.

Then there’s Jim, who suffered the most of the three and yet still has the ability to trust others.

Leonard hopes his hunch about Spock is correct just so he can watch him crash and burn. It’s best Jaylah had the foresight to put him in the other room; Leonard would mostly likely end up doing something he’d regret.

“What’s the deal with them?” Balthazar asks as he comes up along him.

“Neighbors of the deceased,” Leonard answers. His eyes never leave Spock while he holds out the chair for his wife. “There’s something about the husband that’s throwing Zaidi and me. Prior arrest for domestic violence with his ex.”

His boss hums in agreement. “Your boyfriend,” Balthazar says. Leonard turns to him as his eyes widen in surprise. The other man shrugs. “Jaylah brought me up to speed earlier. She thought it would be good if I knew about a possible conflict of interest.”

“I felt this way before I began dating…” Leonard begins to tell him.

Balthazar holds up his hands. “I’m not inferring anything, McCoy.” He glances at the two-way mirror, narrowing his eyes at the people on the other side. “You’re a good detective. If you feel something isn’t right, I trust you.”

“Thanks,” he says.

Jaylah walks to the mirror, where she discreetly knocks against it. Leonard reaches below the frame and flips on the intercom system. “Showtime,” he mutters as his partner goes to sit down across from Spock, Nyota, and their attorney.

“I appreciate you both coming down here on such short notice,” Jaylah tells them.

Nyota gives her a wan smile. “It’s no problem,” she says, eyes growing misty as she reaches for her husband’s hand. “We want to help in any way we can… _anything_ to find the person who did this to Carol.”

“What happened to Carol was tragic,” Spock agrees, stoically. He pauses for a moment, contemplating his next words. “From what little interaction I had with her, she was a lovely woman.”

Jaylah nods as she takes notes. “Weren’t you both friends with her and her husband?”

“I was closer to Carol,” Nyota explains. She turns to Spock and smiles. “As soon as we would get together, our husbands would disappear into the living room.” Nyota dabs at her eyes, sniffling. “You know how some men can be.”

Leonard hears his partner’s chuckle. “Football’s on and they can’t be bothered with anything else,” she says.

“Exactly,” Nyota giggles.

Balthazar comes up next to Leonard and watches the proceedings in silence. The questions are standard ones: when was the last time you saw the deceased, did anything seem out of sorts with them, did you notice anyone stranger hanging around the neighborhood? Jaylah is trying to get them to relax, to feel as if they aren’t the ones under suspicion when there is a chance that they could be.

“Pardon me, Detective Zaidi,” Spock interrupts after a while. “My wife and I already answered these questions when you and your partner first interviewed us.”

Jaylah doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s standard procedure,” she explains. “When there is a violent crime, we like to round all of the bases in just case something jogs your memory. A detail you didn’t think was important or barely noticed. You would be surprised what people end up remembering.”

“He’s uncomfortable,” Leonard mutters to Balthazar. In front of him, Spock purses his lips together as he usually does.

Leonard admits Spock maintains a good game face, but every so often someone can crack it. His fingers tingle with the itch to be the one to do it, to see Spock’s carefully constructed facade fall down. He’s done it twice now and each time has been satisfying.

Balthazar nods in agreement. “Very.” They observe the interview for a while longer until he pats Leonard’s shoulder. “I’m going in to break the news,” he says. “Keep an eye on him for me.”

“Will do, boss,” Leonard replies.

A few moments later, Balthazar knocks on the interview room door and enters. Jaylah rises from her seat to shake his hand before introducing him to the other occupants. Leonard notices Spock’s brow arch slightly as if he’s mildly surprised to see the Chief of Police there.

“Where is Detective McCoy?” Spock inquires when they’ve all taken a seat.

“Occupied with other aspects of the investigation,” Balthazar answers.

This seems to please Spock as his lips ever so slightly curl at the corners. “Very well,” he says. “I imagine that a case of this magnitude requires many hands.”

“They usually do,” Balthazar agrees. “So tell me, Dr. S’chn T’gai and Dr. Uhura, did Carol mention her pregnancy to either of you?”

Leave it to his boss to cut to the chase. Leonard leans against the frame of the two-way mirror, watching as Spock and Nyota's reactions wash over their faces. The latter is predictably upset upon hearing this; her brown eyes begin to glisten under the strain of tears as Nyota presses her hands to her mouth and leans into her husband for support.

Spock wraps his arm around his wife and pulls her close. Leonard notices his lips moving against Nyota’s hair in what he hopes are words of comfort. The ever present solemn expression never changes, as if the news does not surprise Spock. He turns to Jaylah and Balthazar and says, “We are going to need a few moments.”

Leonard steps away from the mirror and waits for his colleagues to enter the room. As soon as the door opens, he can tell by their demeanor that they also feel someone is amiss. “He knows more than he’s letting on.”

“Or he’s a robot,” Balthazar comments.

“Or that,” Leonard mumbles.

Jaylah peers into the interview room to watch Spock and Nyota. “We should interview them separately,” she suggests. “See if one of them cracks.”

Neither of them do.

Jaylah takes Nyota to go get some coffee and fresh air to soothe her nerves while Leonard sits in on Spock’s interview with Balthazar. He and the doctor trade poorly concealed glares several times throughout. It’s clear that Spock despises him and Leonard can’t exactly say that the feeling isn’t mutual.

As they sit across from each other, he wonders if this the treatment Jim endured day in and day out or had Spock been kind at first. Just thinking about anyone trying to chip anyway as his boyfriend’s confidence and sanity makes Leonard see red.

He wants to ask Spock how he could have hurt Jim so terribly. The answer will only infuriate Leonard because people like Spock don’t have remorse; they simply don’t care.

It’s nearing lunchtime when the interviews draw to a close. Leonard leaves his colleague to escort Spock and Nyota out while he goes to meet Jim for lunch. He goes by his office to grab his jacket and wallet before heading out to the lobby.

Sitting on a bench near the doors, Jim patiently waits for Leonard and brightens when he comes into view. To see his boyfriend’s entire face light up and feel his arms around him when they embrace is enough to quell Leonard’s bad mood.

“I have it on good authority that there’s a pretty hungry detective roaming these halls,” Jim says when they pull apart. “Do you know where I can could find him?”

He chuckles as he wraps his hand around his boyfriend’s. “I think he went this way, darlin’. Something about the best cheeseburgers in town.”

“Cheeseburgers?” the other man gasps, giving Leonard’s fingers a squeeze. “Forget that detective; I’d rather take you to lunch instead, Bones.”

“He’s got nothing on me, huh?” he teases as they leave the building.

Jim nods in agreement as he leans in to kiss Leonard’s cheek. “He couldn’t even if he tried, babe.”

 

* * *

 

The next few days pass in a frenzy of activity.

Leonard is counting down the minutes until he can clock out and head over to Jim’s apartment to begin his weekend. All he wants to do is face plant on his boyfriend’s bed and sleep for the next eight hours, though he doubts the likelihood of this happening. Jim has a way of convincing him to do things, whether it be a conscious action or just Jim being Jim. Leonard cannot say no to him because, frankly, there’s something terribly infectious about his boyfriend’s enthusiasm.

Also, being a sucker for Jim’s blue eyes doesn’t hurt.

A knock at his door startles Leonard out of his thoughts. When he looks up, he finds Jaylah standing there with an equally tired expression. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Boss wants to see us before we head out,” she tells him.

“Give me a second,” Leonard says.

After gathering his things, he and Jaylah walk in an exhausted silence towards Balthazar’s office. Both of them need a long vacation once this case is closed—which will hopefully happen.

“Did he say what it was about?” Leonard asks as he palms his face.

Jaylah shakes her head. “Nope, but I’m hoping it’s quick. I have some sleep to catch up on!”

“Amen,” he chuckles.

“We’ll see if Jim lets you,” Jaylah comments with a smile. “Got any plans for the weekend?”

Leonard rolls his eyes. “He _better_ let me if he knows what’s good for him!” he grouses as he opens the door to Balthazar’s office.

Their boss looks up at their arrival and motions them inside. Once the door is closed and both detectives are seated, Balthazar clasps his hands together. “I just got a call from Dr. S’chn T’gai’s attorney,” he begins, “and it seems he is aware of Detective McCoy’s personal relationship with his ex-husband. He’s trying to say that it’s a conflict of interest and is resulting in harassment.”

“How?” Leonard barks, nearly launching himself out his chair until Jaylah places her hand on his arm.

Balthazar leans forward. “Dr. S’chn T’gai said he saw you two leaving the building together on the day of his and his wife’s second interviews.” As Leonard is about to say something, Balthazar holds up his hand to silence him and what follows is a pause before he speaks again. “I am not saying you that you are allowing your feelings for your romantic partner govern your professional duties. You have been nothing but honest with me from the moment you began seeing Mr. Kirk. It’s safe to assume that this is a tactic of Dr. S’chn T’gai’s to avoid further questioning.”

“What does that mean? Am I removed from the case?” Leonard questions, bracing himself for the worst.

His superior raises a brow as if he’s grown two heads. “Removing one of half of my best team from this case would be dumb, to be frank.” Balthazar leans back in his seat and sighs. “Not to mention it would put the department under a lot of heat. You’re staying on the case, McCoy, but you will not have any interaction with Dr. S’chn T’gai. Either myself or Zaidi will handle it until we come up with a better solution.”

Leonard slumps his shoulders as a mixture of emotions ranging from defeat to outrage sinks into his veins. “Fine,” he mutters.

“This is not a reflection upon you,” Balthazar reminds him. His dark eyes turn to Jaylah. “Either of you.”

Leonard hears Jaylah shifting in her seat. “Of course, sir,” she says.

When they’re dismissed, he leaves before his anger can get the better of him. It ignites within his fists, spreading through Leonard’s body while he takes a cab to Jim’s apartment. For someone is who is mostly calm, this is an emotion that chips away at him, leaving his entire being contorted with all-consuming rage. It shows his face; the flared nostrils, eyes narrowed into flashing slits, mouth pressed into such a tight line that his jaw begins to ache.

There is a large part of him that’s tempted to go over to Spock’s house and punch him, though that wouldn’t solve anything. The quick jolt of satisfaction might feel good for a moment, but deep down, Leonard isn’t that type of person.

As the cab winds its way through traffic and brings Leonard closer to Jim’s apartment, he thinks of his boyfriend. A few days off is exactly what he needs to regroup; maybe he can convince Jim to take a last-minute trip to Mendocino or Bodega Bay. Somewhere without the dank atmosphere and noisiness of San Francisco, where they can relax and not think of anything else but themselves.

Leonard is thinking of cabin rentals when he finally rings Jim’s buzzer. Over the sound of his boyfriend’s hurried footsteps, he mentally prepares a list of activities for them to do besides having sex the entire time.

Though that is also appealing.

“Was wondering when you’d get here,” Jim says as he opens the door and leans in for a quick kiss. When he pulls back, his expression takes on a note of concern. “Everything okay, Bones?”

He shrugs. “Long day,” he replies as they walk into the apartment. Leonard doesn’t mention Spock as it will only dampen the mood. “What do you think about going to Mendocino for a few days?”

“What will we do there?” Jim asks. He helps Leonard remove his jacket and mouths his neck, dragging his lips over Leonard’s scruff. “Because I can think of a few things.”

Leonard chuckles. “Oh, you can?” He places his hands on Jim’s hips and begins walking him backwards into his bedroom. “Does this involve you riding my cock until I can’t remember my own name, darlin’?”

“It could,” Jim whispers. He nips at Leonard’s mouth, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and gives it a tug.

Leonard growls as he digs his fingers into Jim’s ass. They stumble towards the bed, where he watches Jim unzip his pants while kissing a trail down his stomach. Fisting his boyfriend’s hair, Leonard closes his eyes and moans at the first gust of damp heat over his boxer briefs. “Darlin’,” he murmurs.

“Get a condom and lube,” Jim tells him.

He leans towards the nightstand, pulling open the drawer and rifling his hand through its contents. Leonard feels the press of a book against his fingers, wondering what his boyfriend is reading now. He’s learned over the time he’s been dating Jim that if anything, he devours books like candy.

Instead of printed text upon the pages, they are worn and handwritten in either black or blue ink. Some places are smudged with its author’s palm.

“Wait,” Jim says, looking alarmed as Leonard glances between him and the book.

For a moment, he thinks it’s Jim’s diary until he realizes the neat cursive belongs to a woman. In the seconds that follow, Leonard finds himself staring at Carol Marcus-Mitchell’s details of her life. Any arousal he felt has vanished, replaced by betrayal, confusion, and horror. “Where did you get this?” Leonard asks heatedly. When the other man doesn’t answer, he raises his voice. “Jim, where did you get this?”

“It’s not what you think,” Jim finally manages.

“You have _no idea_ what I think,” he hisses. He flips through the pages, his rage growing with each moment. “Is this hers?” Leonard shoves the diary in Jim’s face, ignoring the startled yelp he makes. “Is this Carol’s?”

Jim nods as tears fill his eyes.

“Where did you get?” Leonard demands. He snorts in disgust. “Never mind, I don’t want to know!” With one hand, he zips up his pants and begins to storm out.

“Bones! Please wait,” Jim cries out. He sounds desperate like a man who knows the jig is up and he’s been caught.

And yet, Leonard stops at the door to turn back to him. Jim is standing now, looking pale and tear stained as they stare at each other. It reminds Leonard of the first time they met, when Jim was at rock bottom and he was trying to find a missing woman.

“Let me explain,” the other man whispers, taking a tentative step closer.

Leonard shakes as his fury boils over. “You _lied_ to me!” He holds up the diary. “You had this the entire time and didn’t tell me! Do you know what this looks like, Jim? It looks like you’re guilty!”

“I know, but…”

“No! I don’t want to hear it,” Leonard yells. He turns away from Jim, unable to even look at him. Everything about this man has changed in just a matter of seconds; he’s no longer a person trying to sort out of his life, but a potential suspect.

A potential murderer.

Without another word Leonard leaves the familiar walls of Jim’s bedroom, making it as far as the living room to grab his jacket. It’s not surprising when Jim follows.

“Bones,” he begs. There are tears in his voice, making it come out like a whimper. “Wait!”

Emotions surge forth, bringing tears to sting his eyes. He presses his palm against them, trying to keep himself composed. “I was _this close_ to falling in love with you,” he intones, unable to hide the crackle of his voice. “I wanted to.”

Jim’s sobs punctuate the growing chasm between them and it takes every iota of Leonard’s being not to go to him. Swallowing, he wipes his eyes on his sleeve. “Better hire yourself a goddamn good lawyer, kid. You’re gonna need it.”

Fingers clasp his elbow, keeping Leonard anchored to the spot. He could easily break Jim’s hold if he wanted to and he does. And yet he doesn’t.

“Don’t do this, Bones,” Jim whispers.

He yanks his arm away, straightening his posture as Leonard frowns. “It’s _Detective_ McCoy,” he hisses.

And then he leaves with the fragments of a broken relationship and his heart in his wake.

 

* * *

 

When Scotty finds him, Jim is staring at a shot glass of bourbon while he nurses a glass of water between his hands.

He hasn’t been back to Fiddler’s Green since the night he was thrown out. Now he sits at the bar while the owner, Patty, wipes down the polished wood with a rag and keeps an eye on Jim.

A lanky Irish fellow with a shock of white hair, Patty seemed a bit surprised to see him coming through the doors and taking a seat. Jim was a mess, there was no doubt in that; his eyes still burned from all the tears he shed on the way over and it still hurt to breathe.

“Shot of bourbon,” Jim recalls telling him once he removed his jacket. “And a glass of water.”

He unsuccessfully ignored the way Patty raised his brow before going off to do his bidding. Sitting in a place that he used to frequent was strange and uncomfortable. Like he didn’t belong anymore.

Like he was missing a part of himself; missing Leonard.

The sound of glass being placed in front of him startles Jim before he is able to cry. Staring up at Patty, he watches as bourbon is poured in the shot and is joined by water. “What now?” the bartender asks, his Irish thicker than it ever was.

“Call my sponsor,” Jim says, pushing his cell phone towards Patty and begins his one-sided staring contest.

It doesn’t take long for Scotty to come and when he does, Jim doesn’t need to turn his head to know it’s him. He takes a sip from his water as his sponsor sits down next to him, his eyes still glued to the bourbon.

The amber liquid used to be his favorite pastime and his worst enemy. A thing that brought Jim the numbness he craved and the trouble he tried to stay out of. Now it’s within reach; just a sip away.

“Starin’ mighty hard at somethin’ that cannae stare back,” Scotty says quietly. He removes his baseball cap and runs his hand over his thinning hair as Patty comes over. “Glass of water if you wouldn’t mind.”

Jim doesn’t know what the bartender says for it’s too low for him hear. Besides, he’s distracted by the shot of bourbon and what it has to offer. That vague comfort of numbness and its maddening descent into darkness; a taunting mistress that will allow him to forget the look of betrayal on Leonard’s face.

Nothing can erase the way his eyes glistened with tears or how they slowly reddened as Leonard’s emotions plowed into a giant ball of anger and hurt. Picturing it once more brings a wave of guilt and sorrow, forming a sort of pain that Jim can only describe as being torn apart from the inside out. The worst thing about it is that he has no one to blame, but himself.

For someone who has stumbled into another’s secrets and dealt with the aftermath, he of all people should know what they can do to others.

He feels the heat of two pairs of eyes on him, waiting to see if he’ll take the first sip. Jim sighs heavily and pushes the shot glass away. “Changed my mind,” he mumbles.

“Not a problem,” Patty assures as he takes the bourbon and dumps it. “Won’t charge you for it.”

Jim nods. “Bones dumped me.”

“I’m sorry, laddie,” Scotty tells him, patting him gently on the shoulder.

Shrugging, he takes a sip of his water. “Me too.”

They sit in silence for a while; downing their beverages and setting the empty glasses down for refills. It goes on like that without a single complaint from Scotty. Jim is a bit grateful that his sponsor doesn’t ask the usual questions—why, how, when—and is just _there_.

The pub starts to fill up around dinnertime, the volume of patron’s voices growing louder until Scotty leans in and asks, “What now?”

Jim peers over his shoulder, seeing the wall to wall bodies of strangers. He used to be one of them. “Do you mind taking me to my uncle’s?”

As requested, Scotty takes him straight to Chris and Majel’s house, a Craftsman nestled in the quiet neighborhood of Presidio Heights. He practically grew up inside of its walls, having spent many holidays and summer vacations with his aunt and uncle. When Jim ended up at Berkeley for school, he made weekly trips to join them for dinner. His things are still in the guest room, where he sometimes stays when the apartment is too quiet because Hikaru is gone and Leonard is on duty.

Jim’s heart stirs and aches, bringing new tears that he’s quick to wipe away.

Chris and Majel wait for them on the front steps, rushing over when Scotty pulls his car into their driveway. Jim already knows they’re fraught with worry; he’s seen it enough times over the years. From the moment he pulls himself out of the passenger seat, Majel is wrapping her arms around him to pull Jim into a tight, comforting hug.

He feels undeserving of the kindness directed at him, though he doesn’t dare tell them so. Having his loved ones believe he had a near slip is one thing, but his possible connection to a murder…

It’s not a topic Jim would care to discuss. He’s not even sure what all of it—repressed memories bubbling to the surface, the twisted tale Carol weaves within the pages of her diary, their tentative acquaintance—means.

He goes to lie down in the guest room while dinner is being prepared, citing a headache. Jim listens as his aunt and uncle talk about him with Scotty, their voices traveling through the old house’s walls.

Falling asleep is something he doesn’t remember until he finds himself inside of a dream.

It’s not like the other dreams or memories he’s had in which he re-experiences the event; this time Jim follows behind himself as he walks through another fog drenched San Francisco evening. His old neighborhood is settling into the lateness of the hour, each household slowly flicking off their lights while one stays on.

Squinting into the darkness, he realizes he’s standing in front of Carol Marcus-Mitchell’s home. Like all things in the night, the structure takes on a sinister quality as it looms over him. His dream self, completely unaware of another’s presence, peers from left to right before approaching the house.

Jim goes after him, curious to see what his projection is getting up to. It’s strange to lay eyes upon the man he used to be—skeletal, unhealthy, a proverbial dead man walking. He’s wearing a jacket that now sits in the back of his closet, ruined by a ragged gash in the sleeve. Here the tear is gone, though it has been replaced with the usual stains from alcohol or dirt. So his projection has been drinking, but can still function. Interesting.

The dream version of Jim climbs over a row of neatly trimmed bushes, hopping on one foot as his shoelaces get tangled in the leaves. He pulls it free with a curse before bending over to retie it.

It’s then both of them hear muffled shouting. The projection rises to his feet and listens along with Jim until he reaches for the garden gate to fiddle with it. After a few moments, it swings open and he walks through it, keeping his steps as quiet as possible.

The angry voices belong to a man and Carol. It’s easy to recognize her because of her delicate accent even as fury turns to heated metal. She could slash through someone’s soul.

“I’ve had enough!” Carol screams. “I don’t want this life! It’s not even a life! All I do is please you. What about me? What about what I want?”

Jim and his projection creep closer until they can see her through the window of the kitchen. Her companion is unseen, though heard. “Carol,” he says, reaching for her. “Babe, don’t do this. We can go to counseling…”

He steps into view, revealing himself to be a tall man with dark hair and piercing eyes. Jim immediately recognizes him to be Gary Mitchell, having seen his face on television and splashed across the papers. A striking man with an equally striking wife—a perfect couple.

“I don’t want fucking _counseling_ ,” she snaps as she shoves him away. “I want a divorce!”

Gary stares at her, stupefied, as if what his wife is telling is only nonsense. He looks like a man who has never been told no or maybe, a man who always gets what he wants. “What about the baby?” he asks.

“Who told you?” Carol hisses, clutching her still-flat stomach. The fingers of her left hand, sans her wedding band and engagement ring, spread over the area.

“The doctor called to schedule your next appointment,” Gary replies, taking a step towards her. He clasps her shoulders, giving her a happy squeeze. “We’re going to be parents, babe!”

Carol shakes her head, numbly. “No,” she whispers. “ _I’m_ going to be a parent.”

“It’s the hormones talking,” Gary continues like he hasn’t her heard. “They mess with your head; make you say crazy things. But it’s okay, babe. I forgive you. It was just a little slip.”

She shoves him away again and attacks Gary with her fists, beating his chest until he’s backed against the stove, looking confused. “It’s _not_ the hormones!” she shrieks as hair falls in her face. “It’s not a little slip! I don’t _fucking_ love you, Gary! I fucking hate you! I hate everything about you! I hate being your wife, your _bloody_ servant! Your arm candy!”

“What about the baby?” he asks, his anger growing. “They need _both_ parents!”

Carol laughs at him, a hysterical snarl that hurts Jim’s ears. “The baby,” she giggles, “it’s not yours, Gary.” She moves into his sphere, still laughing. “It’s not your fucking child. While you were being Mr. Gary _fucking_ Mitchell, I fucked someone else.”

The slap of Gary’s hand causes Carol’s head to snap back while Jim finds himself startled and wide-eyed. He watches as she brings her hand to her cheek, gingerly touching the reddened skin.

“When you thought you were the only one who got to have me, I kept secrets from you,” Carol continues, defiantly raising her head. “I had more cocks in me than you’d ever dream of. Pounding at me the way _I_ like it—hard and rough and volatile. Even when I was on top.”

Another slap, followed by her laughter.

“I fucked him in our bed,” Carol says, gesturing to her stomach. “The father of _my_ child. Bent me right over the mattress on your side and kept going until I realized I would have to change the sheets.”

Gary reaches for a shiny object he raises up in the air instead of slapping her. “Fuck you!” he screams, slashing the knife over Carol’s slender neck.

In milliseconds blood sprays from the wound, spilling down the front of Carol’s clothes and turning the light blue fabric crimson. Bile claws at Jim’s own throat as Carol crumples to the tiled floor, creating a morbid halo around her convulsing body with her husband looming over her.

Clutched in his hand is a blood soaked knife. An object so familiar, yet so overlooked.

His projection gasps as he tumbles into the wall behind them, knocking over a line of trash bins. The commotion earns Gary’s attention, looks towards the window. He doesn’t see Jim standing there, of course, because he’s fleeing before he, too, becomes a victim.

Origins of unknown bruises and scrapes become solved. The tear in his jacket comes from a wayward nail he catches his sleeve on, further torn by a desperate jerk of his arm.

The other Jim who runs into the night. Running, running, running until he’s nowhere near Carol Marcus-Mitchell’s house or her dead body.

Running until he has a glass of alcohol in his hands and he’s drinking.

Drinking until he’s forgotten.

Until his own mind decides it’s time for him to remember.

Jim’s eyes fly open as he launches himself off the bed, gasping as of his own subconscious is trying to suffocate him. Body thrumming and head spinning, a swarm of memories come back to him and fill in the gaps that seemed destined to be forever missing.

The reason for his black out, for his heavy drinking that night, for his insatiable need to remember what happened to Carol.

“I was there,” he whispers.

He remembers going to her house to check in on her because he hadn’t seen her in a while, unknowingly stumbling into a murder.

 _I fucked him in our bed,_ Carol’s voice hisses inside of his head.

_He follows me and I take off my clothes as I’m going up the stairs. When we get there, when he pushes me down on the bed, I’m not even thinking about him. It doesn’t matter because Spock…_

Spock. _Spock._

Like train cars linking together, Jim connects the dots and runs.

Straight to the last place he’d ever want to go.

 

* * *

 

By the time he’s standing at the edge of Spock and Nyota’s driveway, Jim’s cell phone has nearly twenty missed calls.

It doesn’t matter that he left his aunt and uncle’s house in a rush and wordlessly, neither telling them what was wrong or where he was going. Their voices—Chris, Majel, and even, Scotty’s—ring in his ears as they called after him, shouting his name until the front door slammed shut.

Whatever they’re thinking—probably that he’s distraught and is about to ruin his sobriety—it has no bearing on him.

Jim’s only concern is the safety of two people he loathes. He reasons that just because they treated him with such disregard doesn’t mean he can stomach doing the same. So he hails a cab and spends the ride nervously tapping his fingers against his thigh.

Now that he’s here, fear seeps into his body and threatens to overwhelm him. Jim knows he should call the police, or perhaps Leonard if he thought he’d pick up; instead, he takes a cautious step down the driveway towards the side gate leading into the alley.

It echoes the night that he witnessed Carol’s murder, though the sun still lingers above the horizon where the fog hasn’t blotted it out.

He lifts the hinge on the gate door and guides it open as quietly as he can. Stepping through, Jim shuts it and listens to his surroundings.

Only the sounds of traffic and a dog barking in the distance meet his ears. Jim squats down to peek into the garage, squinting to see if someone is home. Spock’s BMW sits quietly, safely tucked away from the wilds of San Francisco.

This is good, he decides, as he reaches into his pocket to pull out his cell phone. It gives him a chance to speak to his ex-husband alone and tell him of the danger he’s thrown himself into. Spock will have to believe him—Jim knows everything.

About his affair with Carol and the pregnancy it resulted in, leading to her murder.

He won’t be able to deny it, and perhaps Spock will do the right thing and tell the police. The secret could ruin him, but at least he will be alive.

Jim shakes his head as he flips on the recording application, just in case his ex-husband decides to be a coward. Pocketing the phone, he reasons that any evidence of his involvement with Carol will help.

Maybe then his story of witnessing her murder won’t seem as far-fetched.

He stands, wiping his hands against the fabric of his jeans and goes to turn around. Jim sees the butt of the gun far too late as it collides with his temple and he drops to the pavement.

 

* * *

 

“Shouldn’t you be at home, detective?”

Leonard glances up to find Balthazar in the doorway to his office. He shrugs, turning the page of Carol Marcus-Mitchell’s diary with his thumb. “Got a big lead,” is all Leonard tells him. His eyes read over the dead woman’s handwriting and enthralls him enough to ignore his superior’s foot falls as he comes closer.

“What’s that?” Balthazar asks, tilting his head.

“A diary belonging to one Carol Marcus-Mitchell,” Leonard says.

He expects the stunned silence that follows and continues reading. In truth, he could have gone home and done so without interruption.

It’s just…the thought of returning to his apartment and sitting in the deafening quiet is too much. Leonard is used to hearing Jim’s voice inside of its walls. Whether it be him talking, his laughter, or the rare occasion he sings—it’s something Leonard looks forward to.

Or, at least, he _did_.

As he leafs through the pages of Carol’s diary, he forces himself not to think of Jim. Each piece of ink-covered paper has Jim’s fingerprints hidden somewhere, leaving behind breadcrumbs for Leonard to follow. If only he stuck around long enough to find out exactly _why_ the kid had it in his possession.

“How the hell did you get your hands on this?” Balthazar gasps, sounding amazed.

Leonard presses his mouth together and gives him another shrug. “Anonymous source,” he lies. “Someone left it in the lobby of my building.”

“Well shit,” the other man breathes. He pulls up a chair to peer over Leonard’s shoulder. “Find anything helpful?”

He nods slowly. “It seems Mrs. Marcus-Mitchell was not the perfect wife everyone made her out to be,” Leonard answers. Skipping ahead a good chunk of pages, he stumbles upon an entry detailing a walk Carol went on with Nyota Uhura.

And her first encounter with none other than Jim Kirk.

Hungrily, Leonard scans through the proceeding entries as he tries to piece together this woman’s association with his ex-boyfriend. On paper, it seems innocent enough—she was trying to help a lost soul—until he finds an ah-ha moment. “I was right about Dr. S’chn T’gai. He knew her _a lot_ better than he’s let on. Listen to this,” he says, “I imagine it will be easy. I’ll go over when neither of our spouses are at home and make small talk. Get a feel for it. If he’s receptive, I’ll put the idea in his head with a flirtatious comment and a smile. Everyone has always comments on my smile. And then I’ll leave. Let his desire simmer and boil over.”

Balthazar whistles. “She was calculating.”

“Very,” Leonard agrees. “And it worked. There’s more in an entry written several days later. You ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be,” the other man says.

“He follows me and I take off my clothes as I’m going up the stairs. When we get there, when he pushes me down on the bed, I’m not even thinking about him. It doesn’t matter because Spock doesn’t know that. I’m good enough to make him believe that it’s all about him. When his head’s buried between my legs, tonguing my pussy while I pull at his hair, it’s about me. When I ride his cock, the saying still goes. My pleasure, my secret, my control,” Leonard reads aloud. “Being the other woman is a turn-on. There’s no point denying it: you’re the one he can’t help, but betray his wife for, even though he loves her. That’s how irresistible you are.”

Both men look at each other, neither of them truly surprised. The twists and turns are the nature of their job. The other side of a victim’s life, the grisly details and secrets they hid. Balthazar and Leonard have seen enough picture perfect facades unravel and yet…there’s always something missing.

Leonard closes the diary and presses it between his hands, racking his brain for that wayward piece. Nearly everything is in front of him except for the most important detail.

So Spock and Carol had an affair, or perhaps a one-time thing before returning to their respective spouses.

Maybe Nyota found out and killed her, though her grief was no act. Spock’s wife was truly disturbed and saddened by the events surrounding her friend’s death.

Spock, on the other hand, doesn’t seem like the type of person to sully his hands by committing such a violent crime unless…

“What?” Balthazar asks. “What is it?”

Leonard opens the diary to the last entry, dated two days before Carol went missing. In elegant blue ink, she has written, _I'm not sure if I can remake myself as a good wife, but a good mother—that I have to try._ “Can you check her autopsy for me? I want to see how many months along she was.”

The other man picks up the folder and skims up until he finds it. “About two. Why?”

He slumps into his seat, thinking for a moment before everything makes sense. Leonard’s desk phone rings, causing him to scramble for it. “McCoy,” he barks.

“It’s me,” Jaylah says. “One of our dispatchers just got a call from Nyota Uhura, reporting gunfire inside of her residence.”

 

* * *

 

Jim comes back to himself as he collapses on Spock’s kitchen room, head spinning and a blood trickling through his hair.

“Jim!” Spock shouts, alarmed. He rushes to him and assists in helping Jim sit up so he can inspect the still bleeding scalp wound. It’s strange to have Spock’s hands on him, touching the area gently and making fussing noises.

The sound of a trigger clicking causes both of them to freeze. “Not so fast,” Gary Mitchell says. Using the gun, he gestures for Jim and Spock to move away from each other, watching them for any sudden movements. “Better. Who’s he?”

“Jim,” Spock answers. “He’s a… _friend_.”

Gary’s light brown eyes flicker over to him, appraising Jim in silence. “Did you fuck my wife, too?”

“He-” his ex-husband begins to say.

“I wasn’t asking _you_ ,” Gary hisses as his face contorts, causing his skin to flush with anger. He kicks Spock in the stomach, not even blinking when the other man falls to his side and groans. “Always has a fucking answer; you can never be wrong.” Gary looks back at Jim. “Well?”

Jim forces himself to tear his eyes away from Spock. “No,” he replies.

“And why should I believe you?”

“Because _you’re_ more my type,” Jim fires back.

Spock’s jaw clenches so hard that everyone can hear it. “Don’t antagonize him,” he orders.

“He asked a question,” Jim tells his ex-husband while keeping his stare on Gary, “and I answered it.”

“A simple _I’m gay_ would have sufficed.”

Jim pulls a face as he turns to frown at Spock. “Don’t tell _me_ , of all people, how to act!” Annoyed, he leans closer to the other man and hiss, “ _You_ can’t even keep it in your pants!”

“Bringing up my shortcomings will do nothing to improve this situation,” Spock points out through gritted teeth.

He laughs, the sound making his head ache even more. “Your shortcomings are exactly why we’re in this situation,” Jim reminds him.

“Huh,” Gary says. His eyes flicker between the former couple. “Is this a habit of his? Fucking other people’s wives?”

Spock goes to respond when Jim cuts him off. “Actually, he fucked my best friend while I was married to him. Tell me, how is Nyota these days?” He gives his ex-husband a withering look.

“Leave her out of this,” Spock growls.

Jim rolls his eyes. “Always so noble,” he mutters.

“Is that derogatory reference to me?” Spock deadpans as Gary presses the end of the gun into his temple. He winces at the pressure and shuts his eyes.

Gary gives Spock a shake, silently reminding him who has the upper hand. “Both of you, shut up!” He lets go of Spock and turns his attention to Jim. Within a strides, he’s grabbing a chunk of his hair and pulling at his head as Gary aims at the gun at his forehead. “Now,” he demands over Jim’s cries of pain, “you are going to tell the truth!”

“Gary,” Spock says calmly. He holds up his hands in surrender. “Leave him alone.”

Jim feels the bite of the other man’s fingers pulling and pulling until his head is bend upward. He groans while Gary chuckles wickedly. “Or what? What are you going to do?”

The gun clicks as Gary readies it to be fired and Jim swears his heart stops at the sound. “Wait!” Spock shouts. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise…”

Air moves with the gun as it’s removed from his forehead, though the relief is short lived. The clap of a bullet exiting its chamber fills the kitchen long before Jim realizes it’s embedded in his thigh.

He feels the chunk of metal entering through skin and muscle until it comes to a grinding halt, though the pain takes several more seconds to assault his body. Jim glances down to watch blood pooling from the bullet hole; it’s then the first wave comes and he’s screaming.

Jim falls onto his side as he clutches his thigh with trembling hands, uncaring of who hears or sees him. He thinks Spock calls his name or maybe he’s hallucinating.

“Tell me!” Gary shouts. Jim watches as he charges over to Spock, leering over him with the gun in hand. “Tell me what you did!”

Spock’s face is pale, no longer composed as he looks to Jim. “I slept with her!” he admits. “Carol and I had an affair.”

“When! For how long?”

He flinches at the close proximity between him and Gary. “It started in the spring,” Spock tells him. “And she ended it abruptly several days before she went missing.” He bows his head. “I didn’t know she was pregnant.”

“Yeah?” Gary hisses, brandishing the gun in Spock’s face. “But you knew she was fucking _married_! To _me_!”

“Carol was the one who approached me,” he fires back. “We were two consenting adults…”

Jim groans aloud, tasting the sweat gathering upon his upper lip. “Not helping!”

“Shut the fuck up before I put another hole in you,” Gary yells as he charges back to Jim and kicks his injured leg. He kicks it again, making sure to aim closer to the wound he caused. “And don’t think I won’t.”

Another scream drains itself from his throat, tearing the insides apart. Jim digs his fingernails into the tile floor, desperate for something to keep him tethered to consciousness. “Just like you killed Carol,” he rasps, blinking away the darkness at the edges of his vision.

“What?” Spock and Gary both say.

“Just like you killed Carol,” Jim repeats. He lifts his head and meets Gary’s eyes with defiance. “It was _you_. I saw you. She was going to leave you and you were trying to convince her to stay for the baby’s sake.” Pushing himself upright, Jim slumps against a counter, breathing heavily. “Then she told you about the other men; about how the baby wasn’t yours.”

Spock shakes his head, beckoning him to stop talking. “Jim,” he warns.

“I know what it’s like, Gary,” he says. “To have someone you love betray you without a second thought. To discard you like you’re nothing.” Jim licks his lips, tasting more sweat and a bit of blood. He hopes the expression on his face is earnest; enough for Gary to rethink his plans. “It’s like you’re being torn apart.”

Gary nods. “It is,” he agrees. “Like they’re stabbing you over and over again while laughing.”

“Yeah. It’s a fate worse than death,” Jim continues. “Until you realize that there is more than the pain they created; that you can move past it.”

“But can you?” Gary asks. “Can you really? Did _you_?”

Jim glances at Spock before turning back to the other man. “I have,” he assures. “I can’t control what they did to me, just like how you can’t with Carol. You _can_ have compassion for their demons and remove yourself from them.”

“Control and compassion is a fool’s mixture!” Gary counters, spittle flying from his mouth. “Just a condition of morals for men! Useless points and images to keep us in line!” He laughs. “Carol thought she had the power in the end, but it was _me_! When I stabbed her and watched the life bleed out from her throat!”

The image isn’t something Jim will forget anytime soon; he swallows at its memory. “Her death will always linger over you, Gary,” he reasons. “She’ll always have that power over you…until you come clean.”

“To who? To you?” Gary asks. He points to Spock. “To that piece of shit?” He scratches his chin for a moment before raising his brows. “To the police?”

Spock clears his throat, earning both Gary and Jim’s attention. “If Jim were to call Detective McCoy to come over and have an informal discussion, perhaps you could admit what happened that night without such a thing going on the record?”

“How did you know?” Jim asks as Gary muses in confusion, “Why would he be able to--”

Panic is one of those things that sweeps over everyone within its radius. Mass hysteria comes to mind as Jim sees realization dawning on the other man’s face. In those moments, he forgets to implore Spock on his knowledge of his relationship with Leonard as Gary whispers, “You’re fucking him.”

The man shakes his head, bringing a tide of panic with the simple motion. His chest heaves while he paces the space between Jim and Spock. “You’re fucking a goddamned cop! And you want-- _fuck_!” Gary pounces as he grabs Jim by the front of his shirt. “You fucking told him! Didn’t you!” he screams, pulling the injured man closer and shoves the barrel of the gun in his face. “You told him what you saw that night!”

“No! No! _No_!” Jim cries, squeezing his eyes shut. “No! I didn’t say anything!”

“Is that why you’re here? To get me to confess?” Gary accuses, ignoring Jim’s reply. “To help your detective boyfriend save the day?”

Jim grabs onto Gary’s fist, trying to pry the fingers away. “No! I swear to god! I didn’t tell him anything! He has no idea I’m here!”

A span of heartbeats pass and Gary lets Jim drop back to the ground. “He doesn’t know you’re here?”

“No one does,” Jim admits, forcing the words out as the pain in his leg grows. “Just you and Spock.”

Gary grabs him again and drags him across the floor to Spock. “Just us, hm?” he says, shoving Jim away from him. “Were you thinking that if you got me to confess, you would be the big hero?”

“You caught me, Gary,” Jim gasps. He clutches his leg, feeling the steady pulse of blood oozing between his fingers.

The other man cackles, the sound startling both Spock and Jim. “Idiots,” he laughs as he nudges Jim with the gun. “Two of the stupidest fucks, I’ve ever met! Now what to do with you.”

“Are you all right?” Spock whispers while their capture is preoccupied.

Jim balks at him. “Does it look like I’m all right?” he hisses back.

“Will both of you shut up?” Gary snarls. “Jesus Christ! I can’t fucking concentrate with the two of you going on and on!” He taunts them with the gun, reminding both men who has the power. “How the hell am I supposed to figure out how to get rid of you?”

Spock and Jim fall silent while Gary begins to laugh again. “Did you think I would just let you walk out of here with a promise not to tell? That you’ll take this secret to the grave?” he questions, his amusement from their growing fear. “No, gentlemen. It looks like I’m going to have to kill you. Can’t have either of you telling his cop boyfriend about what I did.” He smiles at them. “Besides, he won’t be able to figure out who did it since brain trust over here never told him.”

“Gary, I think we need to talk about this,” Spock reasons.

“I’m tired of talking, doctor,” he says before aiming the gun and pulling the trigger.

One moment, Jim closes his eyes to blink. The next, he’s lying on his back and staring up at the kitchen ceiling in wonder. He tries to remember how he ended up like that—so powerless—before an excruciating burning sensation steals all of his attention.

Hot blood pours down the front of his shirt, causing the fabric to quickly become saturated and sticky to his skin. A coppery tang boiling in his throat, waiting for the right moment to come roiling up and attack.

“Jim!” Spock howls. The sound is unlike anything he’s ever heard from his ex-husband—multitude of emotions swathed in terror.

Another gunshot rings and another and another; he jerks at each one. Spock’s voice falls short as a spray of warm liquid lands on Jim’s cheek. He blinks again, releasing tears from his eyes as Gary Mitchell hovers over him, watching.

“You’re still with me,” he says, amazed. Gary squats down, bringing his face closer to Jim’s. “I’m kind of impressed. I thought a bullet to the chest would have killed you. Is that what you do? Let people underestimate you and surprise them at the last possible moment?”

Jim’s head lolls on his shoulders as he turns, blinking furiously to keep the darkness away.

“Well, buddy, I hate to tell you that there won’t be any surprises,” Gary apologizes. He taps Jim’s cheek, slipping his hand to his chin and turns his head so they are looking at each other. “I’m going to do a better job this time. I’ll make sure no one will ever find you. I’ll cut your bodies up into tiny, little pieces and leave them around a forest…like little bread crumbs.”

He laughs softly while Jim lets out a faint whimper. “Does dying hurt?” Gary asks. “I never got the chance to ask Carol; you know I killed her too quickly. But maybe you can tell me—does it?” He caresses Jim’s chin with his thumb and draws it over his throat. “Are you praying for it to end quickly?”

A sinister grin stretches Gary’s mouth as he closes the distances to Jim’s ear. “Time to pray, little boy,” he whispers, threateningly. “Pray to me!”

The beginnings of laughter turn into someone choking on their own blood. Some of it drips from Gary’s mouth onto the front of Jim’s already sodden shirt. Whatever expression is on the other man’s face, it will be a mystery to him, as Gary’s weight is removed from his body and is replaced with Nyota.

“Jim,” she calls, her voice trembling as she drops the corkscrew in her hand and goes to remove her belt. Nyota kneels down next to him, carefully lifting his injured leg to wrap the Italian leather just above the bullet wound as tightly as she can. “Stay with me, okay? Don’t close your eyes.”

Nyota disappears, though he can hear her footsteps as she hurries across the kitchen to the sink. She comes back with a dish towel in hand, which she presses against his chest. “Jim, look at me,” Nyota demands. “It’s going to be okay, you hear me? Just don’t close your eyes. No matter how tired you are, you keep them open for me.”

He watches as Nyota’s bloody, shaking hand pulls out her cell phone and sets it down next to them. “Are you still there?” she says into the speaker.

“Yes,” a woman tells her. “I’ve dispatched officers to your residence, Dr. Uhura.”

“I need an ambulance,” Nyota states as she applies more pressure to Jim’s chest. “My…my friend’s been shot twice. I’ve made a tourniquet for the first one. It looks like to his rectus femoris muscle, but I don’t see an exit wound.”

The emergency operator breaks the silence. “Where is the second bullet?”

“His chest,” Nyota cries as she loses her composure momentarily. She wipes her cheeks against her shoulder. “I can’t see where. There’s so much blood!”

“Ma’am,” the operator says, “is he still conscious?”

She nods. “Yes,” she answers. “Jim? Stay with me. Help is coming.”

He stares up at her, noticing the tears gathering in Nyota’s eyes and falling when she blinks. Jim can’t remember the last time they’ve been in such close proximity and without either of them screaming. She keeps speaking to him, begging Jim to stay awake and fight the need to close his eyes.

“Hey, we’re going to get you through this,” Nyota assures. “Jim, do you hear me? You’re going to make it.”

Jim’s vision moves from her face to the ceiling, where he studies the cracks forming in the plaster. He wants to ask her when the last time they were spackled over or if she even noticed. He remembers all the times Spock would come in to find Jim teetering on a ladder, carefully patching up whatever imperfections he found in their home and how his ex-husband chuckled.

And now he’s dying on the kitchen floor, in the very house he was thrown out of. Nyota’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, fading in time with the darkness swallowing his vision.

There’s shouting now. Lots of it as it comes in waves beneath the stampede charging into his ear canal.

Darkness grows and retracting, then expanding and repeating the pattern until Jim’s vision is entirely composed of black. Jim draws a ragged breath, hissing something loose inside of his chest.

And he doesn’t breathe in again.

Jim falls into an empty space away from danger, wrapped in darkness and silence.

 

* * *

 

Comas aren’t what television or movies make them out to be.

At first, he doesn’t know it and there’s only darkness. The last memory, albeit a vague one, is a woman telling him stay with her. Her voice has a timbre of desperation even though she’s trying to remain calm. It’s eventually drowned out by shouting and then nothing.

It’s not such a bad thing, Jim decides, to be floating in a place where he can’t be harmed. Where everything is quiet and terror no longer has it’s claws embedded in him. He can forget about his pain and suffering and just be.

He begins to feel the presence of others, when he finally allows it. Their voices sound like he’s hiding under water; words are muffled and disjointed with no discerning characteristics to them. Just the vibration Jim feels in his chest or the warmth of their touch.

Some he recognizes, others he does not.

Other sounds become apparent, coming in like a fuzzy picture on a television: the pneumatic hiss of a machine, the beeps of alarms, squeaky footsteps on an equally squeaky floor.

And he dreams. Of starships and exploring the outer reaches of space, places where no one has gone before. He encounters aliens—some benevolent, others not so—and unknown planets filled with priceless treasures. It isn’t gold or diamonds, but knowledge and previously unanswered questions.

People he knows from his life are there, fading in and out as time goes on.

Sometimes Chris and Majel are on a video conference in a large room, dressed in the uniforms befitting admirals in the military.

Other times, Jim is on a bridge in the captain’s chair and watches the activity around him. Hikaru and Pavel, the nurse from the Kelvin Center, sit at the helm where they control the navigation and pilot them through space. Nyota comes to him, floating gracefully as she relays messages and translations while Scotty bounds in, covered in grease and grim as he excitedly chatters about his latest engineering feat.

Spock is there as well, still like a statue and a man of few words. He addresses Jim in a formal tone that’s devoid of all warmth and personality, save for the way his eyes follow Nyota’s movements.

Then there’s Leonard, who’s always making an excuse to be at Jim’s side. He acts like he’s constantly annoyed by whatever they’ve found themselves entangled in, though it’s the fondness in his voice that gives him away.

“You really want to head back out here, huh?” he whispers after a while. They’re in a secluded rec room on the ship, watching as space dances around them.

Jim nods, his eyes never leaving the stars through the viewport. “Can you imagine what we’ll find?”

Leonard grunts. “Alien despots hell-bent on killing us, deadly space viruses, anomalies that could wipe us out in an instant,” he grouses bitterly.

“It’s going to be so much fun!” Jim muses. He turns to Leonard, catching his profile in the dim light and nudges him with his elbow. “You’ll be there, right, Bones?”

“No place else I’d want to be, darlin’.”

And Jim wakes up.

It’s like emerging from deep waters, wading through them while the rest of him wants to submit to the tempting promise of more dreams in exotic galaxies. He resists, though it’s exhausting, and finds his surroundings filing back in like a slow moving flip book.

There are flashes of light that give way several minutes in which Jim is aware of until he blinks to find Majel at his side. She’s watching him, brows furrowed into deep thought until realization dawns on his aunt and her expression softens. A relieved smile forms on her lips as she leans closer. “Hey, sweetheart,” Majel says as she pushes Jim’s hair off his forehead. “Nice to see you again.”

He grunts tiredly into the oxygen mask fastened around his nose and mouth, trying to recognize his surroundings with sluggish eyes. Jim blinks slowly before giving up and turning back to his aunt, silently questioning her.

“You’re at General,” she explains as she continues to pet his scalp. He notices relief loosening the tightness around Majel’s deep brown eyes. “Do you remember what happened?”

He does; of course he does. Jim nods, sighing heavily as he hears Gary Mitchell’s hysterics and Spock’s futile attempts to reason with him until it all explodes, disappearing into nothing. He pulls up the oxygen mask, wheezing at its loss. “Did…they find…cell…phone?” he manages to choke out before the effort becomes too much.

“James Tiberius,” Majel gently chastises as she refastens the mask to his face. “Yes, they found your cell phone and the recording you made.”

A wave of relief—pure and utter relief—passes through him, giving him the energy to lift the mask. “How…long?” he rasps. Jim groans when his aunt brushes his trembling hand away and lets her fuss over him.

“Two weeks,” she finally answers, giving him a stern look. “And keep that on. You were removed from intubation only yesterday when you started coming around.”

He sighs as he gives a nod of understanding. Jim reaches for her hand to pat it and hums when Majel takes hold of it. She squeezes him gently and lifts it to her mouth, where she kisses his knuckles.

“Tired?” Majel comments.

He blinks his eyes, not having realized that he had shut them. Jim nods and rubs his thumb over her middle fingers in apology.

“Leonard and your uncle will be sorry they missed you,” his aunt tells him. “They’re downstairs getting some fresh air, but you’ll see them soon, cookie.”

Jim is too exhausted to reply or wonder why his ex-boyfriend is somewhere inside of the hospital. Instead he falls back asleep where there are no stars, but the comfortable darkness to keep him safe.

 

* * *

 

He spends the next several days drifting in and out of consciousness.

His surgeon is a good-natured man named Dr. Geoffrey M’Benga who assures his aunt and uncle that their nephew’s weakened state is entirely normal. “Given the amount of trauma to his body on top of the medications we’ve prescribed, I’m not surprised that Mr. Kirk is experiencing fatigue,” he explains with a sympathetic grin. “Healing takes a lot of time and patience -- probably more than most people have.”

He wants to tell Dr. M’Benga that it’s a bit of an understatement; Jim has to fight the urge to close his eyes, which in itself is tiring. He finds himself falling asleep when his hospital room is filled with visitors or, on several occasions, not even waking up when people are there.

Embarrassingly, he misses Gaila, Christine, and Dr. Dehner’s visits. None of them mind, of course. They realize how much healing Jim has to do.

He does manage to stay awake when Hikaru and Ben come to see him. Jim doesn’t comment as he watches his roommate holding back tears as they clasp hands. “Dumbass,” he hears Hikaru muttering despite his inability to hide the relief and fondness in his tone.

Jim learns not to begrudge the progress he makes, no matter how small it may seem. While no one says or even alludes to it, he knows just how close he came to dying. Recalling the events after Gary shot him for the second time is something Jim is unable to do, but he does realize how few people have survived the same injury.

And how there’s even fewer who have managed to come back twice—after ceasing to breathe on a kitchen floor and later flatlining on the operating table.

It’s a miracle he’s emerged from his coma with little to no impairment of his facilities. So Jim swallows his pride and lets his body take the lead. He withholds a pout or complaint when everything seemingly drains him of what little energy he has. There are the times he’s able to stay awake for the majority of the day and the other times he sleeps for eighteen hours straight.

He even manages to hide his doubts when he’s told Leonard has come to visit him numerous times; all when he’s sleeping, of course.

At first Jim thinks they’re lying or mistaken. Leonard has no reason or obligation to come see him—their relationship is over. There’s also the fact that he’s probably up to his eyeballs in paperwork and press conferences. Why Leonard would spare a moment to come see him is beyond Jim’s reasoning; that’s what he tells himself.

Sometimes he hears Leonard’s drawl in his sleep. The warmth of his voice comes from far away, though close enough to make Jim wonder if he’s really there.

He doesn’t dare to hope, fearing what it might do to him if it turns out to be otherwise.

 

* * *

 

Jim is switched to a nasal cannula towards the end of his first week being fully conscious, much to his relief.

He’s grown bored of the movie he was watching on television when he hears the low murmuring of voices outside his door. Jim turns his head out of curiosity to find Chris leading Nyota into the hospital room.

They stare at each other, him in shock and her in trepidation, as Chris takes the bouquet of flowers from Nyota and mutters something about getting a vase from the nurse’s station. “You two play nice,” his uncle comments before leaving.

No one speaks or moves; there’s too much hanging between the former friends. Nyota takes the first step, walking to the end of Jim’s bed where she appraises his current condition.

He remembers a time when he hated her and wished he could steal away the life she took from him. Now Jim only feels pity as he takes in Nyota’s haggard appearance. He’s one to talk; at least she is able to wear pants while Jim is one wrong move away from exposing his ass to the hospital staff when he leaves his bed.

She’s still beautiful because he’s certain there will never be a time that Nyota is anything but. He recognizes the weariness that’s settled into her body language; the extra weight from burdens not belonging to her. Jim knows what it’s like to shoulder them.

After all, he’s felt it too.

“You look a lot better from the last time I saw you,” Nyota comments as she soothes the material of her coat with her hand. Her wedding band and engagement ring are gone, leaving behind a span of skin as the only hint of where they used to be.

It clicks for him—the stories he’s been told to fill in the gaps in his memory. Nyota had witnessed Gary standing over Jim, taunting him as he bled out on her kitchen floor before she stabbed him with a corkscrew. They’re calling it justifiable homicide and she won’t be charged. After all, it was her impeccable sense of timing and quick thinking that saved Jim’s life.

“Sorry about your belt,” he rasps.

Nyota gives him a familiar look—the one where she can’t tell if he’s being serious or just facetious. “It’s just a belt,” she tells him, carefully. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better,” Jim says. He gestures to the array of medical equipment surrounding his bed. “It gives the room character; don’t you think?”

She looks around as she draws her teeth over her bottom lip. When Nyota turns back to him, her eyes are bright with tears. “Everyone has their own aesthetic,” Nyota replies, taking another step closer. “I see you finally stopped with the mouth-breathing.”

“Ny,” Jim begins to say.

“Jim, don’t say it,” Nyota quietly demands as a pair of tears fall down her cheeks. She is quick to wipe them away and compose herself. “I don’t want to hear how sorry you are or that you send your condolences; I’ve heard enough of that from the last three weeks. And I especially don’t want to hear it from _you_.”

His mouth clicks shut and he nods. “Okay.”

“Good,” she says. After a moment, Nyota ventures to the chair by his side and takes a seat. Once she’s made herself comfortable and folded her coat over her lap, she speaks again. “I can’t say I’m entirely surprised because they say once a cheater, always a cheater. I don’t know what I was thinking when I married him. That things between us would be different than they were with you and him.” She looks down at her hands. “That he loved me more than you. I don’t know, Jim. I just don’t know.”

He reaches for her and takes one of her hands in his own. “Spock was a complex man,” Jim tells her.

“Complex?” Nyota sadly chuckles as she gives his fingers a squeeze. She meets his eyes and grins. “I think you mean selfish, manipulative, and possibly a sociopath.”

“I heard we aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead,” Jim reminds Nyota, offering her a friendly smile.

She laughs. “It’s not like he can talk back,” she counters.

A spark of the woman Jim became friends with returns to her, that incredible wit and intelligence. He sees it again as if he hadn’t gone a day without it.

“I’ll never understand how people can blithely disregard the damage they do by following their hearts,” Nyota admits. “How I completely let all of my morals and values fall away for pure egotism just because I loved him so much. How I allowed us to hurt you so badly and still was able to look in the mirror without regret. If I saw that woman now, after knowing what I know, I would spit in her face. I would scratch her eyes out.”

Jim nods as his eyes begin to sting. “Spock had all of us fooled,” he whispers.

“Not you,” she replies. “You tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. I wouldn’t listen,” Nyota wipes under her nose. “Jim, I can never tell you how sorry I am for what I did.”

A whimper escapes through his lips as he hears her long-sought apology. Hot tears fall down his cheeks, catching in the transparent tube of the nasal cannula until Nyota dabs his face with a tissue. Jim lets her and when she’s done, he brings her hand to his dry lips to kiss it. “We used to be friends once,” he tells her.

“We used to be,” Nyota says.

Jim sniffles, gathering up his courage before other people’s opinions take hold. “Maybe we can be like that again.”

“Maybe we can.”

 

* * *

 

It’s late into the evening of Nyota’s unexpected visit when Jim sees Leonard for the first time since their break-up.

He’s spent the hours after she left napping on and off, allowing his body to mentally and emotionally recuperate from the day’s events. Jim doesn’t regret seeing Nyota again; it had been nice to have some closure to a painful phase of his life. He hopes they can forge a friendship from the ruins of their previous one, even if it’s never the same as it once was.

Jim wakes to the sound of someone typing on a tablet next to his bed. Majel and Chris are taking a much needed, though very reluctant break from their vigil, so he knows it’s neither of them. He’s still groggy when the other person notices he’s up. In the moments leading up to it, Jim finds himself debating the merits of going back to sleep. The cocoon the hospital staff and Majel have constructed around him isn’t the same as his bed at home, but it works just as well.

He expects it’s Hikaru or Gaila setting their tablet down and moving closer as the chair squeaks with their weight. “I was starting to think you didn’t like me very much,” a familiar voices says, giving him enough of a start to push Jim to being fully awake.

What he finds leaves him in a stunned silence when Jim turns to see Leonard sitting by his side. The light hanging over the hospital bed shines down on his face, revealing a wary dimpled grin. There’s no other way to say it—Leonard looks so exhausted that it hurts is even lay eyes on him. It’s as if he’s been running on coffee and fumes, but not much else.

And yet, he sits next to Jim’s bedside, unkempt, bleary eyed, and hunched over like his body aches.

“You’ve been asleep every time I’ve come by,” Leonard tells him. His expression, already mixed with uncertainty, falls when Jim doesn’t respond. He sits up a bit straighter, putting space between them. “Do you need anything?”

Jim blinks owlishly in the way one does when they’re on some serious painkillers. When he opens his eyes, he’s even more confused to find that Leonard is not a hallucination. “You’re really here?” he asks after a while.

“Well,” Leonard starts to say. He does that head scratching thing for when he’s nervous or uncomfortable. If Jim was a betting man, he’d say Leonard is both. “Yeah.”

“Majel and Chris,” he begins to whisper while his eyes roam over the man in front of him, “kept telling me you were here. But I thought…”

Leonard characteristically raises one of his dark brows. “You thought what?”

Jim runs his tongue over his lips, wetting the dry and chapped skin as he chooses his next words wisely. “Didn’t we break up?” He watches as Leonard goes bug-eyed at this. “You dumped me. Don’t look at me like that, Bones!”

“Are you fucking…” A scowl crosses over Leonard’s face as he pushes himself out of the chair and stands.

“What? You did!” Jim counters, tracking the other man’s angry pacing. “You accused me of lying to—”

“Which you _were_ , if you don’t remember!”

Jim balls his fists. “Was I hiding her diary from you, yes? I was. But did I lie about it? No! It’s not like you came up to me and were like, oh hey Jim did you happen to see a dead woman’s diary around here?” He folds his arms over his chest, ignoring the way his sutures pull when he moves. “And you didn’t even let me explain—just assumed I was guilty.”

“That was before I knew you had traumatic amnesia,” Leonard rebuffs.

“Oh hey, guess what? It was before _I_ knew I had traumatic amnesia, too!” Jim snaps back. He feels his face burning and knows even without a mirror that he probably resembles a tomato. “You have no idea what it’s like to have an entire event—not even an event, but a fucking person—completely blocked from memory! And to find out you watched them die and there was _nothing_ you could do about it but run because you’re so terrified.”

Leonard’s anger dissipates and he stops pacing the room, coming to a halt at the foot of Jim’s bed. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks quietly, pleadingly. “If you thought you might have known something, you could have told me, Jim.”

“Told you what? That I think I might have something to do with a murder, but I’m not sure how?” Just hearing the words slip from his mouth makes Jim wince. Shaking his head, he eases himself back onto the pillows as exhausted tears sting his eyes. “You’d think I was crazy. Sometimes, I still think I am.”

The other man comes back to his side and cups his chin. Leonard is warm like anyone other person, so it’s not some strange dream Jim has found himself in. “I’d help you figure it out,” Leonard assures. “We’d figure it out together.”

Maybe it’s the open, honest glint in his eyes or the memory of his cruel rejection when Jim tried to stop him from leaving his apartment, but his emotions flare up again. Moving his chin out of Leonard’s grasp, he glares at him. “Oh would we now, _Detective_ McCoy?”

Repeating the very last words Leonard said to him before tonight…well.

It’s petty and hurtful, but right now it’s what Jim is feeling. Believing those seemingly true promises until discovering actions that say otherwise. And then having to fight through the emotional turmoil until he emerges just a bit more emotionally battered and bruised.

Leonard looks like Jim’s backhanded him across the face and in the seconds that follow, he seems to age before Jim’s very eyes. His skin pales dramatically until its grey and ashen. It brings out the pronounced bruises hanging under his orbital socket, heightening how worn out Leonard is. “You have no idea,” he croaks as he slumps back down in the chair, hanging his head. “You have no idea what it was like…”

“To what?” Jim grumbles. “Enlighten me.”

“To watch you nearly die right in front of me.”

Fresh waves of anxiety begin to gnaw at his insides as Jim watches Leonard raise his head, revealing a pair of watery eyes and tears flooding his cheeks. “Bones,” he whispers.

“No!” Leonard shouts, his voice cracking as he buries his face into his hands and allows himself to breakdown. It doesn’t last long; he’s quick to compose himself. “I was one of the first units on the scene, flying into that house like hell on wheels when the smell of blood hit me. There was so much of it—yours, Spock’s, _his_.” The last word spews forth from Leonard’s mouth like a curse with a frown to match. “Then I heard Nyota yelling for help from the kitchen; didn’t even think you’d be there until I got inside.”

His eyes brighten again and he turns away, only showing his profile locked in agony as Leonard remembers. Fat tears slip down the curves of cheeks Jim has memorized with sight and touch, wetting them until they shine under the hospital room lights.

“You were barely hanging on,” Leonard continues, unable to face Jim. “There was this moment that I thought you were already dead. You were so still, Jim, and so pale.” His lips begin to trembling as he struggles to keep a sob at bay. Sniffling, Leonard palms at his face. “And then you blinked. I went to you and all I could think about was keeping you alive. I remember putting my fingers against your pulse right when you stopped breathing. I just…I couldn’t lose you. Not like that.”

Jim feels his chest aching in the spot where the bullet struck him in the lung, only millimeters from his heart. It’s enough to make his eyes water as he silently wills Leonard to look at him.

“It was a miracle we got you back. Nyota and I,” Leonard tells him. “That you made it through surgery, the first twenty-four hours.” He finally meets Jim’s stare, looking even more weary than before. “I stayed with you in the ambulance and all the way into the surgical floor. You went straight up there; never even set foot inside of the emergency room. They rolled you through the doors and I went to call your aunt and uncle. To tell them what happened, but one of the EMTs found your cell phone and gave it to me. I texted Jay to tell her to get a hold of them while I found an empty room because and listened to the recording you made.”

Leonard begins sobbing—a wet, helpless sound that shakes his entire body. It’s strange to see him so vulnerable, so frightened, so small. He’s been Jim’s pillar of strength from the moment they met, even before the latter realized it, and to be the cause of his anguish…it hurts Jim just as much as it does to Leonard. “You fucking idiot,” he whimpers angrily.

Jim doesn’t try to refute the statement; he more than deserves it.

“You’re out of your goddamned mind, going over there like that!” Leonard hisses, his diatribe obviously nowhere nears its end. “I kept thinking how could you do that? To your aunt and uncle? To Hikaru and Gaila? To _me_? How could you nearly die before I got to tell you how much I love you, Jim? That you’d make me realize it when your blood was all over me?”

Though they’re said in a flood of anger, hearing Leonard saying that he loves him makes Jim feel like he’s exploding.

“What?” Leonard barks. He stares at Jim as his frown softens into something similiar to confusion. “Why the hell are you smiling at me? Can’t you see I’m yelling at you?”

It’s kind of difficult for Jim to contain himself as a weak laugh bubbles from the recesses of his throat and out his mouth. “You’re a moron, you know that, Bones?” he says, still chuckling. Jim reaches for Leonard’s hand, lacing their fingers together and sighing happily at the weight of them against his skin. He wants to kiss each knuckle, but Leonard is too far for him to tug over and Jim’s certain that he wouldn’t take being manhandled very well.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he grouses. Leonard’s full attention is on their joined hands and he’s not even looking at Jim anymore.

He runs his thumb over a span of golden skin; it feels good. “I love you, too.” Jim’s smile broadens as Leonard’s head comes up in increments, until he’s able to gaze into spheres of scattered greens, browns, and golds.

“You love me?” Leonard questions.

Jim nods while trying to suppress a yawn; it’s just as well that’s he’s wearing out. It seems both of them need some rest, especially Leonard. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I do.”

Leonard doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t need to. Instead, he brings Jim’s hand up to his mouth and presses a gentle kiss on his palm.

It’s far better than any words.

 

* * *

 

_One Year Later_

Leonard isn’t surprised when he doesn’t hear his husband calling for him when he comes through the door.

He’s learned during the course of their relationship and eventually marriage that once Jim finds something of interest, he becomes wholly single-minded in his dedication.

That is until Leonard comes to distract him.

He finds Jim in their bedroom, his notepads and textbooks sprawled out across the comforter with him at the center of it all. Leonard stands in the doorway, listening to his husband typing away on his laptop while endearingly furrowing his brow. It’s something Jim does when he’s deep in thought, which he currently is since he’s writing his dissertation.

The document had sat dormant for several years, from the time he married Spock to after the subsequent divorce. He never planned on finishing his doctorate, not with life throwing Jim curveballs. If it wasn’t slowing drinking himself to death, it was rehab. If it wasn’t rehab, it was picking up the missing pieces and putting them back in place.

Once he had been released into the care of his aunt and uncle, Jim found himself with a lot of free time on his hands. It chafed at him—even Leonard could see that—until they stumbled upon the document containing a half written thesis on the _Bayesian Analysis of Systematic Effects in Interferometric Observations of the Cosmic Microwave Background Polarization_. As he sat next to Jim and tried to follow along, Leonard as that spark in his boyfriend’s eyes—that maddening and stubborn determination that he loved so dearly.

“Maybe you should mull it over, darlin’,” Leonard mentioned to him, remembering how Jim shrugged and muttered something in agreement.

With some gentle nudging and a little encouragement, Jim rediscovered his love for Astrophysics and is now a month away from defending his dissertation to the review panel. His passion is evident in the way he explains theories and events to Leonard, gesturing excitedly with sparkling blue eyes. Half of what his husband says, he hasn’t a clue, but he loves being witness to it.

Leonard watches him a bit longer before lightly rapping on the door frame and grins when he sees his husband’s head pop up. “Hey, darlin’,” he greets, going to Jim’s side and kissing his cheek.

“Did you just get home?” Jim asks as he returns the sweet gesture with one of his own by pulling Leonard closer to kiss his lips. He tastes of buttered toast and black tea. “I didn’t even hear you. Want to sit down?”

They rearrange the things on their bed, giving Leonard enough room to squeeze next to Jim. “Walked in the door a few minutes ago,” he tells him while Jim saves his progress and powers down the laptop. “Good headway?”

“Yeah. I finished up some edits that Dr. Barnett sent over and cleaned up the appendices.” Jim sets the computer aside, devoting his attention entirely to Leonard. “Enough about that,” he says, smiling. “I’d rather spend time with you.”

Leonard presses his lips to Jim’s forehead, reveling in the smooth, warm skin. He can’t put into words of how much he loves the man sitting before him. It’s nearly impossible and it grows every day—swelling and multiplying until Leonard’s certain his heart will explode.

He holds up his husband’s left hand, turning his silent observations to Jim’s ring finger. A platinum band lies there, never removed unless he’s showering or going to bed. Jim wears the wedding band with the same pride he takes in calling Leonard his husband. It’s the twin to the one on his own finger, though Leonard’s is slightly more dinged.

“Did you eat yet?” Jim asks after a while. He, too, is staring at their hands.

“Not yet,” Leonard replies as he rests his head in the crook of Jim’s neck. “I could whip something…”

Jim makes an offended sound. “ _I’m_ cooking,” he playfully demands. “You just came off a long shift; go relax or something.”

Leonard tightens his hold on Jim and shakes his head. “Let’s just order some take out so you can relax with me.”

“I could be persuaded,” Jim tells him, followed by another kiss.

They stay like that, cuddled up in bed while Jim orders food from their favorite Chinese place several blocks over. Leonard listens to the gentle hum of his husband’s voice and tries to think back to the very moment he saw Jim come into his office.

The wounded, lonely man who rode the train through the city is gone now. He’s vanished into the recesses with the other souls who managed to find themselves and survive. Neither he or Jim would be able to recognize the person he started out as now—too much time has passed.

It’s just as well that they stay in tonight, Leonard thinks to himself, because tomorrow morning they will get up early to catch a train.

And this time they know where it’s headed.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


End file.
